Retribution
by BoredTodai
Summary: [Revised] Varus has joined the League of Legends. The Institute's magic, slowing the progress of his corruption. His life was dedicated to revenge, but now, the new champions that he meets gives his life new purpose. [Varus x Syndra]. Cover art by Cirath.
1. Chapter 1

_4-7-2014 _

_Hey, this is BoredTodai, just here to say that I am making changes. I've had reviews that I have agreed with whole-heartedly. Before those reviews came in, I felt as if something was very wrong and I wanted to change what has been written, but I haven't done anything until now. I guess the short excuse is that I rushed through this as fast as I could in order to get the ideas out of my head without second thought. Many of the chapters are getting slightly revised and a few will be making an exit as I finally decide the focal plot points. Sorry for not updating in a while, I just felt like I needed a more concrete understanding of my situation. So, with that being said, here is the story; as of now._

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><p><strong>This is my first fanfic. I'm an avid Varus player and have recently read fanfics on here and Varus has almost no material for him. So here is my best shot for a story about Varus' reasons for joining the league and his relationships within it. As with most stories on here, please review this so I can know what to do to make this story better. -BoredTodai<strong>

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><p><span><strong>Chapter One: A New Home<strong>

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><p>From the bed in the plain room in a dark hallway on the east end of the Institute of War, arose Varus. His league title was "The Arrow of Retribution" and like an arrow, he was flexible, strong, deadly and followed one path. The man -–creature, that was Varus stood, walked over to the mirror affixed to the wall across from his bed, shared by the door. He looked into the reflection and for once didn't see any new signs of corruption.<p>

The tattoos of the Clever Owl were held unblemished from the blight that remained of his once pure body. Again, Varus wondered if that was what held Pallas off. His eyes were gray, surrounded by the tattoos that ran underneath them; like talons or tears, he was unsure. His hair was tied back behind him except for a loose strand that fell over the diadem he wore on to the gaunt face he had. His hair, mocking his youth, was no longer a deep brown, but changed to a white that reflected his cursed state. His chest was bare, save for a strap that once held a quiver and pauldron in place on his shoulder; the circular buckle's stone was shattered, once being a brilliant amber stone, but now a dark grayish-blue.

His legs, or what remained, were a writhing mass of violet tendrils, not being able to decide if they should be viscous or solid. The horror rose to only the base of his midsection, showing off his toned abdominal muscles and lithe body. The crawling heap may have stopped at the tail end of the owl that stretched down his back, but it resumed on the forearms past the beak of the wise bird; extending into false gauntlets, whose finger tips radiated a teal blue.

Around his neck, Varus observed the long, red scarf he wore, a present from his wife. His eyes teared up as he grabbed the head of a poorly shaped stone arrowhead his son gave him before his corruption.

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><p>"How are you so good dad?" Threshan pleaded with his dad.<p>

"It took me a lot of practice, son," Varus replied, continuing, "And my father taught me the same way that I'm teaching you." The rock in Threshan's hand was triangular, but due to his haste, a chunk of stone was missing in one edge. "Besides, for your first try, this is amazing," he comforted, placing a hand on his son's curly, blonde hair.

"One day, I'm going to make better arrows than you!" Threshan said with renewed determination, his eagerness, a staple of his youth.

Varus was the temple guard, he wasn't going to be around as much as he should, but he was certain that someday, he wouldn't have to worry about the man that his son would one day become.

Or... would have become…

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><p><em>They will know regret,<em> Varus thought angrily, reaching for the list, under the cracked stone of his old pauldron straps, that he memorized, with the names of the guilty.

A knock at the door startled him, though he showed none of it through his regained composure.

His face, cold and aloof, was greeted by the short Summoner Felisia. Her purple hood was pulled back and the extremely warm smile was again causing distrust run through Varus' mind. _It was an unnatural happiness_ he decided. "You're being summoned Varus, aren't you excited?!" She said in a voice that wasn't too loud, but broke the silence of the dark gray corridor enough to seem like a scream.

"Thrilled," Varus responded sarcastically.

"Oh come on, you've just passed the Judgment and now you're telling me you don't even want to do what you came here for?" Felisia scolded him with dark eyes much to the contrast of those staring holes through her. Hesitantly, she told him further, "The match starts in thirty minutes, you should get ready and head to central courtyard before then, so the others can get you to the Rift." After Varus said nothing, unmoving, not showing any emotion, she went on, "By the time you get back from your grand debut, the seamstresses should have clothes to... suit you," she decided carefully, observing the mass under his navel, reaching the ground, "Are you sure you want to housed here, by the way?" Felisia asked, still as incredulous as when he asked to be roomed far from the other champions, lest Pallas finally wretch from his control.

The first room they wanted to give him was far too big, his possessions would barely cover any of the space in the grand room they offered him near the champion Syndra, another person decidedly wanting to be far from the others as Varus, albeit different reasons. When he asked for something that was much smaller, they came to the idea, after some arguing, to put a bed in a spare storage room to the first they offered.

Again, just as when he was questioned before, he answered, "This room suits me fine, the other would wind up being a waste of space, give it to the next champion that comes."

Seemingly unsatisfied, Felisia left with her unnerving smile after repeating the time and place he needed to be in half an hour.

Varus shut the door, back pedaled and summoned the liquid bow from his arm. He fancied it in his palm, the grip like a glove and the four staves reaching in pairs away from each other. He drew his fingers of his left hand to the area above his grip and pulled back. Not to his surprise, but still to his interest, a sharp apparition of an arrow materialized from the air, the liquid-like air pooling to a point before his fist.

This time when the door knocked, his startle caused him to release the grip on the shade of an arrow and the bolt was sent flying. Luckily, it hit the wall next to the door instead of the door itself. The point was wedged deep in the stone and he knew that if he hit the door, the arrow would have passed through without much effort.

He dashed to the door quickly and opened it to see an equally worried woman on the other side. Her eyes, the same purple as his corruption and their hair was the same shade of gray-white. Where his was strung back, hers fell forward covering much of her forehead before being swathed to behind her ear. Her skin was pale and covered with an informal black and purple cloth that reached past her wide hips, where two legs, clothed in skin-tight leggings extended to the floor. Her gray brows were writ in concern and her hands were outstretched to her sides, warped purple and black spheres floating from the ends.

"Is everything alright?" She asked urgently, "I heard a thud and thought something was wrong or something."

"No, my apologies," Varus lied, not wanting to show his weaknesses, "I just got startled and fell off my chair." He looked the woman over; from descriptions he heard back in his old homeland, Varus recognized the girl in front of him to be Syndra, if not in her usual gear. Funny, he thought_, she doesn't seem that evil and threatening as the stories make her out to be_.

"Well then," she said, relaxing the tension in her body, allowing the spheres to dissipate into auras surrounding her sinuous form. "My name is Syndra, I'm your neighbor," she pointed to darker area down the hall, even further east than his. "I just wanted to come down here and introduce myself before your first match..." A pause extended for a few seconds with Syndra shifting weight onto her other foot as Varus looked forward, unreadable.

"I'm Varus, Dark Sovereign," he replied cautiously, adding, "I've heard about you back in Ionia."

"O-oh, well, they aren't really that accurate!" She said, color arriving rapidly to her cheeks, embarrassment and shame coming across in drones.

"We'll for one, you're shorter than they make you out to be, but nonetheless, dangerous all the same, I'm sure," Varus stated nonchalantly.

"I've heard about you too, but no one ever said you didn't wear clothes," she replied, trying to change the subject to a more trivial matter, but to no avail as Varus slammed the door in her face, anger very apparent on his face.

_Damnit_, she thought, loneliness returning to replace her misplaced hope. Turning with a deep frown, shattering her façade and wishing she was just normal instead of the freak that they thought she was.

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><p><em>Author's Notes: Again, reviews would be much appreciated.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Earning his Keep**

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><p>Varus arrived to central courtyard early. He was decidedly glad that he did, because he got to scope out his opponents in the next match. He was glad that no Noxians were on his team.<p>

As he was searching for familiar Ionian faces in the growing group of people, a woman, wearing a blue dress that lazily fell just past her shoulders approached him. Her blue hair fell around her, spreading wide, but falling a few inches short of the flattened harp of an instrument that surrounded her, floating.

The calming music she strummed was very contradictory to the invasion he suddenly felt into his mind, not unlike Pallas' cries to him from time to time. He was surprised when the voice that echoed in his thoughts was a woman's instead of the baritone of the old, evil king that spoke to him on occasion.

_I'm Sona. Today I am to help you in the rift, _She... transmitted. _I'm you partner for today_, she thought, eyes tracing the lines of the muscles etched onto his chest. He made out an image, but due to its sudden nature, Varus only saw that it was of him and her, but he couldn't make out more before the image fell away completely. It only lasted for a few seconds, but what he did see made Sona blush, skip a string in the scale she was playing and look away in embarrassment that mimicked the impressions he felt in his brain from her.

After a few, quiet, tense moments of silence, Varus asked, ignoring what just happened, _Who are we facing?_

Deciding to likewise pretend nothing occurred, Sona responded in thoughts, _Graves and Leona_. A image came this time of a burly, middle aged man with a huge 2-barreled gun in hand and a tall, armored woman whose armor reminded him of the sunrise on the nearby lake of his old home.

"The Match is starting soon, come, we will send you now," a tall summoner, with a short, trimmed, brown beard said behind a purple hood; abruptly in a demanding voice.

"Are you sayin' that I gotta face-that-in lane?" The man who was Graves asked their top-laner, a man with a huge sword he dragged across the ground.

"I guess clothes are optional here," the barbarian said, chuckling.

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><p>The match wasn't even close.<p>

0-12-3 wasn't a score Varus was proud to admit. He felt his ribs with his blue fingers, amazed at how the league's magic healed the huge hole that was there merely minutes ago. He shivered, remembering each of his pseudo-deaths. Pain, always so cold before he felt the reanimation bring his body back to full vitality.

He never imagined what death would be like, but he was starting to question his time, recently. He clouded his own thoughts and returned to reality.

"I guess they just let anyone join the League. That new guy was terrible. I'm honestly surprised he passed the Judgment," Leona said to their midlaner within clear earshot from Varus and Sona, not caring if they heard or not.

_I'll play better next time, _Sona pleaded, feeling guilty and ashamed.

_They were just lucky_, Varus shot back, anger and frustration apparent on his face. _If Lee didn't gank us so early, we could've won, easily._

Felisia walked up to Varus from behind, before Sona could tell him anything else, "You might not have done so well out there that game, but you get a second chance today," she told him, smile wide, "One of our top summoners wants you in the game five minutes from now."

Varus' legs felt weak, the endurance buff of the Rift fading. "I do what I must," he responded, leaving Sona, without saying goodbye.

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><p>They match over some burned land in Ionia was about to start. The nobleman demanded some form of reparation, but the Noxians who he accused denied doing anything to the land.<p>

Varus found the whole argument a waste, the land was only grass and rocks before. If anything, the land would be easier to grow crops on now and be worth more money. Unfortunately, neither party would give up arguing and demanded a match to be played to decide the outcome of the dispute.

Thresh laughed, "How long until I get to see Pallus, Varus?" He asked, the bones of his skull attempting a horrendous smile. They both stood on the fountain that was a symbol of their "base" in the Rift.

"Not for a long time," Varus lied, pressing forward at the start of the second match of his career as a champion.

"Back when I was still alive, I heard stories of how cruel he was to his subjects; it would be delightful to speak to one of my greatest inspirations," Thresh smirked from the shop keeper, picking up a couple of wards.

"Focus on the battle," Varus responded dishearteningly.

"I saw that last match. If anything, you'll be holding me back," Thresh started hackling his demented laugh again.

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><p>3-6-5 was better than his first game, but he had to admit, he did hold Thresh back. Twice he missed his chaining root and got them killed, Thresh's only two deaths.<p>

They still won, but that didn't stop the champions making fun of him after the match.

"Maybe he's so weak, because he keeps tripping on his scarf," a woman in a purple dress and large hat said in a thick accent to her support, a levitating blonde woman with a dove circling her, clothed in white.

"Oh come on Cait, the summoners just don't know how to use him yet," the tan woman beside her said in a breathy voice.

"You're only saying that because he's practically naked out there; do I have to remind you of the first time you fought against Lee Sin?" The woman with the large gun, Cait asked, a mischievous smile crossing her face.

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><p>Varus felt his anger rising, but endured it. It was not his choice to look the way he does, he argued with himself. He wasn't broken. No, and no matter what Thresh said, Pallus was still under his control.<p>

He started walking to his room in the east of the enormous palace that was the Institute of War. The effects of the Rift slowing wearing off as he felt the pain rise in his sore arms and legs. The anger he felt allowed him to ignore all but the knowledge of it as he came up to his door.

Twisting the handle, he opened his quarters. Once inside he pulled open the wardrobe, expecting to find a towel or clothes, but all Varus found was dust of unuse. _So I guess the Seamstresses haven't found my size yet,_ Varus thought bitterly. He wanted to take a shower and sleep, exhaustion was starting to overwhelm his muscles. Sighing, he turned and walked down the hall to room of Syndra.

He knocked twice and waited, hoping she could give him instructions on how to request towels for his room. But when he got no response, he knocked again, fancying that maybe she didn't hear him the first time. This time, it only took a few seconds for the door to swing open, showing the Dark Sovereign in the same clothes he saw her in a few hours prior.

"Oh, hey Varus, what are you here for?" Syndra said, not hiding the surprise on her face; apparent in the first syllables of the sentence.

"I just want to know who I have to ask to get a towel. I'm afraid that I haven't gotten any yet," Varus replied, calmly.

"Oh yeah, sure," Syndra laughed, continuing when she saw him staring, eyebrow raised, "Sorry, I just thought I made you really angry earlier..."

Varus replied, by putting on a small, obviously fake, smile.

Deciding to retrieve the promised towel instead of take the full front of his gaze, she left the doorway, allowing Varus to see inside the simplistic room. Eyeing the wooden floors and vaulted, high ceiling, he was still taken aback by the free luxury offered by the league in exchange for your free will. Even though the room wasn't bare, it certainly wasn't well furnished. Varus was able to see through the windows in the back with his keen eyes, trained in the years before the Noxians invaded, not yet losing their edge. Out looked to a beautiful forest down the slope, wild deer breaking through the tree line in the evening sun, warming their backs as they grazed on vegetation.

Sitting on a table near the back was a plate of food, the smell alluring him until he choose to ignore what he guessed to be some kind of familiar, Ionian, chicken and rice. Behind the table sat a single pillow, where Varus guessed she was sitting before he knocked on her door.

Syndra came back, a gray towel in hand. "Here, just be sure to get it back to me when you get yours," She told him, composure regained.

Varus said nothing and nodded, turning away from the alluring smell of meat and a woman he decided was overly kind to the half-monster that occupied the doorway moments ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Quick little note, thanks for the kind words and views/favorites/follows and support. I've decided to make this chapter a little bit longer than the previous ones and I did kind of make it a little more dark and twisted... so in preparation for future chapters, I'm going to change the rating to MA just incase.**

**That being said, Thanks for those who are reading and do me a favor and drop a review for me to read hopefully telling what i'm doing well and more importantly what I am not doing well, this is my first fanfic, so I'm looking to improve. :) -BoredTodai**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 3: Just a Dream<span>**

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><p>"Hey, honey," his wife's cooed from the door way of their modest house, her gentle voice greeting him like a dove. Her face was a picture of beauty, dark eyes with her uncommon blonde hair for the island of Ionia, making her highly prized woman in her hometown. Her smile, as gentle as her voice. She was tall for a woman, standing a head shorter than Varus, but she was leaning on the threshhold, making herself appear shorter than what she was. <em>Beautiful,<em> Varus prided himself on.

"You look beautiful," Varus replied as he closed the distance between them, adding, "Whatever you're cooking smells wonderful."

"Oh, it's just some Dhania and rice," Eliana replied, a small smile filling her face, she knew that, the seasoned chicken was one of his favorite dishes.

Varus leaned into her for a quick kiss, wrapping his arms behind her back.

"Ewww, that's disgusting!" Threshan called from the house, eliciting soft laughs from Eliana and a throaty chuckle from Varus.

"So what have you done since I was away at the temple?" Varus asked his son, crouching down to be at his level.

"Well, he did get in a fight yesterday, didn't you?" Displeasure evident from Eliana as her brows drew together.

"Fawkes punched me first!" Threshan complained.

"You still shouldn't-" Eliana started before Varus started whispering to Threshan.

"Did you win?" He asked his son in a voice designed not carry beyond his son's ears.

"Yep, I did exactly what you told me to," Threshan whispered, beaming at his father.

Eliana, defeated, finished, "Just, next time, make sure you don't break his nose, his mom was furious."

Varus laughed and straightened out, rubbing Threshan's head, messing up his hair.

...

Something felt wrong...

...

The family walked to the kitchen, stopping long enough for Varus to set down his bow and quiver. As they sat down and Eliana served the two boys their food, Varus felt queasy.

He looked to his arms, their tanned skin sweating. He wiped his brown hair out of his eyes, feeling the dampness that accompanied it.

"Are you alright?" Eliana asked, her beautiful, delicate face in a look of concern and fear.

Varus turned around in his seat, oddly, ignoring his wife. What he saw was fire. The whole wall was aflame. He turned back, "We need to leave, c'mon, hurry!"

"What are you talking about, sweetie?" She asked, her brow knit in confusion.

He felt a wetness in his boots. Looking down, under the table, he saw damp mud, and the sweat in his boots was cold. The images of death that accompanied were hunting him, like it was desperate wolf, lumbering his way without second thought. Varus was unable to escape the animal, his feet, stuck in place.

When he looked up and wished he hadn't. His son lay on the table, eyes still open, pretending to be alive, although the wicket gashes in his back, displaying the red of his flesh and white of some bones protruding from his back seemed to say otherwise. The blood dripping off of the table was enough to prove that he was gone. His blonde hair no longer the golden Varus was used to seeing, but held highlights of the same dark red as the fire and blood around him.

His wife, beautiful, no longer. Her smooth face covered in bruises, tear stains running through the dirt that started on her cheeks. Her clothes were ripped apart, laying around her naked, broken body. Her throat was cut open, turning the ground around her to mud. He retched and vacated his stomach, imagining what must have happened to his wife before they killed her.

Varus sprang awake. Tears streamed down his face, a grimace attached to his lips as he felt the sweat stick him to his bed. _I will show no mercy,_ he cried out in his head. "I will find them," he cried out in his room.

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><p>People didn't regularly summon Varus. Since his first few games, two weeks ago, most of the institute considered him ill-fit to be a champion. Most champions avoided him altogether, so he was surprised when Irelia, the captain of the Ionian guard, showed up to his room one quiet day.<p>

"Can I come in?" She asked him when he didn't move from the doorway.

"What's this about?" He asked her, backing to the small table that was in his room. The chairs around it, extremely simplistic and made with cheap wood, but sturdy and reliable.

"Well, I won't lie, I'm honestly concerned," she instructed him.

He decided to remain silent and see what she had to say.

"Ok." She started, face blank, segmented sword calming floating behind her. "You are corrupted. We can both agree on that. I'm not sure when you'll go and I hope you won't. I've heard of the pit of Pallus and what it does."

Varus, noticing the hostility and concern replied, "Thank you for your observations, but Pallus is under my control."

"Well, maybe now, but for how long, Varus? How long until you might harm one of the other champions or summoners?" She asked.

Varus, not knowing what to say and not wanting to say anything, decided to not say anything. He looked at her with eyes full of cool contempt, as if her presence only slowed him down; like her concerns had no justification, as if he didn't think so similarly.

Getting up from the table, Irelia added, "I just came here to tell you that I am glad for all of your work in Ionia and that if you need someone to take back control from the corruption for you when you turn, I'm here."

She left the room and Varus shut the door on her, _she doesn't understand_, he thought. _She couldn't stop me,_ he thought, worry coming in drones.

_What if no one could stop Pallus?_

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><p>Varus was walking to the market that the Institute held. Instead of having to get food from one of the peddlers like usual, he finally got the fireplace built for his small room and could cook. He had to live in a different room for a week, the large bed he had to sleep in, engulfing him like a lone ship in a tidal wave. The room had a similar effect, but he dealt with it the best he could. He was glad that he could actually make food in his regular room now.<p>

Today, his usual garb on the battlefield was replaced by something he was more akin to wear before the invasion. He wore a white cloth around his shoulders that extended to right above his navel, with a navy vambrace extending from his elbow that held leather on the fingers that hid his demented hand and forearm.

He had pants on today too, much to many champions and summoner's surprise. Being half-naked bothered him solely due to the words others said about him. He knew that they couldn't grasp his situation, but he didn't want to encourage the jeers at him; so he requested pants made for him, their construction almost making his legs look natural. The boots that peaked out from under the indigo hem were matching to the leather on the hand that he held his bow in and just as well-made.

He ditched his diadem, but he still kept his gray hair back in a knot, except for a few strands that extended onto his forehead.

He walked through the market until he got to an overweight man in an apron, selling chicken and beef. Varus inquired him on prices and ended up paying him a few silver coins for the chunk of poultry he received, wrapped in brown paper. The league didn't pay little, but not everything here was free and when he looked for some cheap rice, his gaze drifted past a tall woman, with hair, bleached from the sun and tan skin.

Her face was beautiful and she carried herself with the grace of a veteran warrior. Varus gritted his teeth. _This is her, this is my purpose_.

Riven was the leader of the contingent that ruined his life. Her name was at the top of the list of those he desired vengeance on. Overwhelming anger coursed through him. His eyes were burning holes into her back and he felt his bow slowly seep from his glove. Noticing the bow starting to appear, he forced it back under his skin.

He knew that if he did something here, he couldn't get vengeance on the others who were guilty. And if he did kill Riven, the institute would seek to punish him. Since Varus was already under a death sentence, what could they do to him? He could not hide his view as he went to buy the rice, violently throwing a gold piece at the vender, paying at least three times the amount necessary for what he took.

Riven turned to find his eyes drilling holes into her, a deep seated anger displayed on his face. She held eye contact with him, not backing down. She looked pained, he thought that she was trying to look like she was innocent or not to blame. He could not think straight, the fury starting to breach the brim of his self-restraint. Varus started moving away. He would wait, today, but one day, she shall know his revenge.

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><p>Varus unlocked the door to his room, twisted the handle and started having trouble opening it. He pulled for a little bit, then gave up and kicked his door in, ripping it from the hinges. Stone dust fell from the air and in the light, the suspended particles almost coated the room in their gold reflection. He set down his food and decided to calm himself down by meditating, something he hasn't done for years, but something he still remembered how to do from his years at the temple.<p>

"Hello, Varus. I didn't expect you to be someone to meditate," a voice drifted to him. Unaware of who entered his room without his knowledge, his eyes shot open, bow flashing into existence.

"Leave," he told Karma, eyes violent with intent to only give her one chance.

"That's pretty rude for someone who only wishes to help you," Karma told him.

Taking his time to respond, Varus closed his eyes and breathed deeply from his nose, to swell his stomach and have it exit through his mouth. He slowed his heart and forced his thoughts to exit his mind, allowing only the things that happened around him measure in his senses. Karma sat down, Varus was unable to see it, but could determine the result from the displacement of air.

"Why are you here?" Varus asked.

"Just wanted to get a look at what Irelia has said is a man reaching his breaking point," Karma said, continuing, "So does he speak to you yet? Pallus? I hear that when the corruption speaks is when it is close to taking over."

Remaining unresponsive for a few minutes, Varus only asked, "Is there a way to stop it?"

Karma's sad look and modest reassurances were enough language to write a book.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok, just realized that Syndra came to the league 4 months after Varus. Now I feel stupid… But for the consistency of the story, I won't change what I have already written… :/**

**Thanks for reading thus far, hopefully you've enjoyed the story. I swear, this will be my last note for a while, I just REALLY want people to tell me what to do to get better.** ** - BoredTodai**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 4: The Past<span>**

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><p>Syndra heard about the new champion that came to the League only a few days before he passed Judgment. His name was Varus and apparently, according to the rumors, he was an Ionian that was like her. People didn't really like being around him, he unsettled them. But what other rumors were to be heard, Syndra wasn't privy too. Most champions avoided her. Her reputation from Ionia preceded her.<p>

When she heard that Varus, the Arrow of Retribution, was moving in next door, she was secretly excited. She developed a far-fetched hope that maybe he wouldn't be afraid of her, wouldn't think she was evil and did what the Ionians said she did; or at the very least not care enough about that to let it affect him.

She promised herself to meet him when he moved in.

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><p><em>"Is everything alright?" She asked urgently, "I heard a thud and thought something was wrong or you we're hurt or something."<em>

_"No, my apologies," Varus explained, the muscles of his chest tense and his brows, ever so slightly showing an emotion, what she thought was worry. "I just got startled and fell off my chair."_

_"Well then," she said, relaxing the tension in her body, allowing the spheres to dissipate into auras surrounding her sinuous form. "My name is Syndra, I'm your neighbor," she pointed to darker area down the hall, "I just wanted to come down here and introduce myself before your first match..." She shifted from her right foot, to her left, feeling clunky and awkward in her skin. She really wanted them to at least be friends._

_"I'm Varus, Dark Sovereign," he replied from behind a strand of gray hair, cautiously, adding, "I've heard about you back in Ionia." _

_Her heart almost fell apart right there. She felt like no matter what she did, everyone would view her like some monster. Her white hair, he purple eyes… _

_Unable to look him in his similar, piercing, white eyes, she tried to salvage the situation, "O-oh, well, they aren't really that accurate!" She said, color arriving rapidly to her cheeks, embarrassment and shame coming across in drones. _

_"We'll for one, you're shorter than they make you out to be, but nonetheless, dangerous all the same, I'm sure," Varus stated nonchalantly. _

_Hope returned to her, she smiled._

_"I've heard about you too, but no one ever said you didn't wear clothes," she replied, teasingly, trying to change the subject to a more trivial matter. Varus slammed the door in her face immediately. She was stunned… _

_Damnit, she thought when her mind drifted back under her control, loneliness returning to replace her misplaced hope. How was it fair? She never had social situations. She had no idea what to do; so she stayed there, in front of his door, in tears before heading back to her room. _

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><p>Back when she was little, Syndra was different from the other kids. She played with the children in her village, but she could do things they couldn't. Whether she was rescuing lost pets, levitating or skipping rocks, she used magic. The elders were scared of her.<p>

…

"You're reckless, Syndra. What will you do when you accidentally hurt someone?" Elder Erkla asked her.

"I won't hurt anyone!" she pleaded, but it wasn't enough for them.

…

They decided to send her to a large, abandoned temple, in the middle of nowhere, so if she did lose control, she wouldn't hurt anyone. The person put in charge of her was an elderly mage. Her whole life feeling her power grow as fast as she was. The old man treated her like a student and a daughter. She learned a lot and felt at home even if he real parents and real friends were far away.

"Sir," she went up to him one day, "I think-"

"How many times do I have to remind you Syndra, just call me Sale," he interrupted, beaming at her from his desk.

"Sale, I think something is wrong with me," she admitted.

"It can't be too bad, come here child," he said, knuckling his long, snowy mustaches. As she got closer, he placed his wrinkled, vein covered hands on her forehead.

"So what do you think is wrong?" he asked after a while, pausing to close his eyes.

"It's like a shield is blocking me from using magic and it's pooling up, waiting to burst," she told him, becoming increasingly worried; eyes starting to well.

"Well, no. No, I was stupid and thought that you were just growing so fast that you could have lost all of your powers in a spell that was beyond your limits. This is my fault, I should have trusted you to know what your restraints are," Sale said, sadness strewn on his face.

"When will it stop, Sale?" Syndra asked, relief present in her young eyes.

"Syndra, I messed up. This spell I placed on you isn't removable," Sale decide, removing his hand from her forehead, "A rookie mistake, but you shouldn't be harmed. When it breaks, you should be fine. That shouldn't be for a few hours, so Syndra, let's go to river, I want to teach you about summoning."

"But," she started.

"But not, we're wasting time, let's go on that walk," Sale said, rising and cracking his back.

Sale was like her father, the last person she truly loved. When he passed away later that night, she didn't realize at first that the spell killed him, but it became apparent quickly. She cried for hours and didn't know what to do. She thought about coming to the Ionians for help, but they made that decision for her when they came to check up. Her face was stained with tears when they accused her of killing Sale. She repelled them from her home and with the restraints gone, she ripped the castle-like temple she lived in from the ground.

...

The Ionians said that she killed him, that she couldn't control herself and that she was some power-crazed being that was hell-bent on destroying them.

* * *

><p>She wasn't the most popular champion and she was glad that she wasn't in more demand. It wasn't that she didn't regularly win, she was rather strong, but difficult to control by summoners; so those who did summon her were usually good at her. She preferred the quiet of her room over the constant pressure of the battlefield.<p>

The time she spent out of the Fields of Justice, she generally spent in her room, perfecting her arts, watching matches, trying new things and sleeping, a lot of sleeping. She didn't do much, but she came to the League to at least show that she wasn't an alien. When she did come out of her room, eyes hunted her, seeing her and immediately scorning her. She always remained isolated from everyone, like she carried the plague. Once a week Syndra stocked up on food at the market and made it as much of a show of her normalcy as possible. She heard some people thought she never ate, walked or slept.

When she first arrived to the Institute, she made sure to ask for a room far from the Ionians. The leaders of the Institute obliged her, but Irelia, Shen, Akali, Kennen, Master Yi and Lee Sin made it known on the first night of their disapproval of her presence. They tried to threaten her, but she knew they couldn't do anything in the walls without punishment and Syndra thought that she could probably defend herself, even with the damping power that the Institute had. Karma wasn't there when the rest of Ionians confronted Syndra and she has never gone out of her way to make her feel unwelcome. Syndra didn't know what to think about that, but she, herself, was too afraid of the possibility of her disapproval to face her.

* * *

><p>When Varus returned a few days after he came to ask for a towel, she was happy. It was almost a sign that he didn't avoid her like the rest of the Champions. He didn't care that she was The Dark Sovereign. For a second, she felt hope again, even if it was just in the form of ambivalent caution from a half-crazed, broken man.<p>

She turned as he promptly left, saying only, "Thank you, Syndra."

She pulled the towel to her chest and leaned her nose into it, hiding a grin. _This smells nice_, she thought. Syndra wasn't sure what her feelings were for the man of purple and gray, but they definitely were not negative thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: On Borrowed Time**

* * *

><p>Varus knew that the corruption couldn't be stopped, but coming to the Institute at least slowed the progress. Every few days, Varus would peer into the mirror and see the length of a fingernail swallowed from his remaining pure skin. He tried to hide his fear, even from himself, but Varus knew that if he didn't act soon, he might never be able to avenge his family and his village completely.<p>

The small talk he had with Karma the week prior made him try to consider his options, which he now found available to him. Mainly, they consisted of either eventually losing control on the alien that resided in him or what he felt was betraying his purpose, but likely saving more from the harm that could come.

* * *

><p>His first match in a few days had many of the other champions at central court looking visibly relaxed.<p>

"Free win," Corki said, head leaning back as he laughed, "I wanted a real match too!"

As the summoners sent them to the Rift, Varus was placed under the control of a powerful summoner. When they all got the Fields, He heard Kayle say, "Why is Aphromoo using that one? That _champion_ is so weak."

Varus walked away with a snarl on his face. He hoped that this Aphromoo, or whoever, didn't get him killed. His support, Leona, got to lane early. Leona was silent, but it was apparent to him that she didn't want to be in the lane with him. The way she avoided eye contact and had a sturdy, rigid demeanor made him figure that her silence was because she didn't want to lose the game by making him play worse. Both of them migrated to the river bush and waited without speaking, hoping that they could catch Corki and Alistar if they were leashing blue buff for Vi. To their amazement, Alistar came alone, not bothering to use a ward in the bush and met a face full of Leona and Varus. Leona's smashed her towering shield into the big bull's face and made him stumble. the apparitions from Varus' bow sank into his flesh, ripping the sineous masses layered on him.

Alistar flashed over the wall after the stun was over and Varus charged his piercing arrow, which required him to brace his footing, and aimed into the fog over the river wall and released, hearing the sound of flesh rip. "Nice," Leona told him. "Glad that you aren't so useless as to not attack an unmoving target."

"Thanks," Varus told her, emotionless, noting the hostility. The first half minute was great for them. Whenever Corki approached them to kill the summoned creeps in lane, Leona showed from the bush, effectively zoning him from gold and experience. When Alistar came back into lane, it wasn't any better for them, because he had no escape or range and they were further ahead by the time he got back from healing his wounds. Leona and Varus stayed back as the lane pushed toward their turret. When they reached the tower and the bolts of power started to fell the creeps, something felt wrong. Leona was a little too far ahead and Alistar was far in front of the creeps attacking his tower.

As soon as the commands in his head ordered him to start to backpedal, Vi burst from the river bush that Leona had yet to ward, right arm coming forward for a dash that missed Leona narrowly. When Vi missed, Alistar ran into Leona head first, smashed the ground and knocked her up. Varus was stuttering his steps, from the commands of the summoner controlling him, while firing his bolts into Vi and Alistar. With each tink of the false metal that got lodged into their armor and flesh, the corruption attached itself like a lion waiting in the shade on their person, present, but not yet harming them. Their skin became pale and there was an audible cringe-like noise when he struck each a few times. Leona raised her shield and bashed Vi, causing her to stop and find her balance, right before the support flashed to Varus. Corki flew in, leaving a wake of fire in his path, passing in front of his support. His gatling gun activated and Varus felt the pelting on his back. Walking backward, Varus launched a volley of arrows high into the sky, desecrating the earth below, causing the enemies to slow while popping the blight stacks from within them. Weaving around the scattered, sharp shafts of arrows in the ground proved to be just enough time for the summoner controlling Leona to stop and attack a minion.

Luckily for them both, that minion's death was exactly the amount of experience they needed for the restraint on their strongest abilities to break. Leona raised her shield, surrounding herself in a golden light and called down the power of the sun on top of Alistar, who stood directly behind Corki. The purple minotaur backpedaled and Corki flashed out of the range of the flare, but right into the Tendrils of Corruption from Varus' outstretched hand. The wiry, purple leashes wrapping up the ship Corki sat in, disabling the throttle and calling forth the corruption present on his person from before the gank started. Leona threw her blade and dashed to the immobilized Corki while Varus quickly finished the slowed Alistar with a small arrow to the back before turning to the snared Corki struggling to kill Leona. Vi was to the left, charging her dash, the pistons on her enormous glove emitting steam.

Varus focused Corki first and finished him with a downpour of arrows, arms reacting faster than normal, the weapon in his hands, almost controlling itself. Right before his small ship exploded, the tendrils wrapped around Vi's legs and stopped her mid dash, a short distance from Varus. With a charged arrow, Varus finished her, the arrow cutting deep and unleashing the explosive poison that was the taint of his corruption, and he laughed._ Finally_, he thought, _someone who can use me like I should be used._

"Was that a triple kill?" Leona asked, laughing along with him. "I didn't know that you can actually get kills."

"What's better is now, I got the Crest of the Ancient Golem, too. She decided to take her blue camp from their Orianna," Varus told her.

"Wait, so Alistar walked into the river bush late for no reason at the start of this match?" Leona asked him, questioningly.

"His summoner must have stopped paying attention," Varus told her.

* * *

><p>The game went great. He ended up getting another triple kill and a few doubles, ending with a score of 18-3-9. Varus smiled, <em>I would like to see Graves call me weak after that. <em>Another thought occurred to him at that moment, _Now people will actually want to summon me…_ His smile faded and he realized how much he liked not having to be under other people's commands. _I just hope that I don't get stuck in a lot of Bronze-priority disputes, now_.

Over the course of a few days and many matches, it seemed like the consensus over him previously had vanished. Wizfujiin, Cop, Tabzz and Yellowpete started to summon him regularly and even renoun summoners like Imaqtpie, Genja and Doublelift used him in important matches that decided major policy for their nations. Varus appreciated that people finally figured out how to use him, but he soon found himself to the edge of his physical and mental limit.

As soon as he rose in popularity, he ebbed. His lack of mobility and powerful lane counters kept a lid on his performances. People reverted to other champions and left him all but out of play. He was still summoned, but now it was at a manageable rate. He rise in popularity did help him with many other champions, but, he knew that most still took him as a piece of zigg's work, fuse already lit; which he couldn't argue was completely far from the truth. When he walked through the halls of the institute, he felt the eyes of someone on his back.

* * *

><p>Varus rarely saw Syndra in his games. She was rather niche to the summoners, but the one game he did play with her in it, he considered himself more than lucky that she wasn't playing against him.<p>

Syndra was an amazing sorceress. She held herself suspended in the air, her head reaching a solid foot above Varus' and the ornamental plate behind it rising to a even more staggering height. The dark solids that rotated around her did not hesitate in their simple, repetitive path. The way the summoner moved her was interesting; he or she must have been rather experienced with how to play her, because each step was calculated, placing her far from danger, but in the perfect spots to punish her opposition's mistakes. She seemed to manipulate the air around her opponents in walls that crippled, disorientated and crushed them. It was something truly amazing, if unnerving.

Once, Syndra caught him staring at her ploy and at first, he held the gaze, expecting her to look away and not caring one way or another that he was being rude, but the minuscule smile he saw unnerved him almost as much as the summoner who he met on the first day in his room's- if for different reasons. He quickly looked away, but it was too late as Shyvana jumped from the fog of war in her dragon form to crash on his neck, killing him and ending his spree.

His summoner was furious, relaying "lag" to both teams through their communication systems.

...

As Varus got back to his room, he was glad that the day was over and he could relax. He frowned and opened his new door on shiny, undamaged, brass hinges and walked to the mirror. He lifted up his half-cloak draped over his shoulders and inspected the rising tendrils. Today they looked unmoved, but he knew better. The tip of the tail of the Clever Owl was consumed. A week ago, the tendrils were only up to his hip bones.

* * *

><p>The eyes that were glued to his back made no end and no matter how hard he tried, his keen eyes couldn't make out any shapes in the crowds and shadows of the institute. Varus decided he was just paranoid and rejected the thought that someone was watching him.<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey, Varus, can we talk?" Riven asked, hints of empathy in her voice.<p>

"No," was all he responded as he walked past, barely able to force his own body to follow his commands.

Riven didn't speak, but accepted it as a end to their conversation. Decidedly, Varus thought it wise she didn't try. He had a purpose after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Unfinished Work**

* * *

><p>The way the institute worked in Runeterra was like the way a small village worked. In the village, there was a council that oversaw the major issues and pooled resources to build the town. The Institute of War resembled a village pretty well. Every nation-state from Bandle City to Zaun to Varus' homeland of Ionia sent the Institute their resources and knowledge in order for the Council of the most distinguished summoners to decide their disputes and find solutions to their problems.<p>

Each champion from each city-state was a figurehead of that nation's power and as such, they were respected and admired or feared by those both in and outside the massive building. Each came for different reasons, but their use had powerful impacts in the policies of every nation.

The large, sprawling building that was the Institute held some of the greatest works in history and many accounts of that history, itself, underground in the massive library records.

When Varus exited the stairwell to the books, the residents were champions and summoners alike. A large, dog-like creature stood by some shelves, flipping through pages of an elderly book, spine cut and tattered. Varus recognized the creature as Nasus. The stories always told of his fondness of books and history, but they never mentioned how humanoid he seemed. His face was set in a calm demeanor and slightly edged from joy. His eyes, although blue and vivid, were at the brink of omniscience and empathy. Nasus, not unlike many other champions disturbed him.

As the torso of a man and legs of a monster walked by, Nasus but looked up to give him a blank look. Varus shared the look, but walked on, not wanting to hold any conversations.

* * *

><p>Varus figured that his condition couldn't have been the first time corruption has spread. He needed more time and the only way he could see his time expanding was finding out how to deal with the effects or reverse the damage wrought.<p>

His expedition into ancient knowledge started in the section dedicated to Ionian history. His first books detailed the life of Pallas, the Mad King of centuries ago. All of the accounts were fairly undetailed and some pages were lost to the ages. What was clear was that he was killed by a wound to the heart. How he ended up imprisoned in a pit of the temple Varus once guarded, Varus wasn't privy to.

When the small anecdotes of Pallas' cruelty and war making ability started to become repetitive, Varus decided to instead look at history from before Pallas, nearly a millennium prior to the present. When that proved unfruitful, Varus paused. He didn't know where he would search in the massive library, but he knew he needed answers.

If he didn't get answers… He didn't like to think about that possibility.

As Varus sighed and made his way to turn on his feet, he ran face to chest of the massive, bipedal hound that was Nasus.

"You search for a cure," the Curator stated, immediately.

Varus didn't let the surprise of not hearing the giant, upright dog sneaking up on him show and remained silent and as emotionless as Nasus.

"You will find these useful," the god-like creature said through large fangs on his angular face.

As Varus remained silent and unmoving, Nasus placed the bundle of books he held in one hand on the shelf a few feet away. Varus stood still, not wanting to give him satisfaction of knowing his personal plight.

When Nasus left the area, Varus went to the stack of leather and paper faster than usual, but not so fast to show anything but mild interest. He picked up the stack that was easily as tall as his forearm and went to the nearest table around the corner, created by the shelves.

Pulling the first volume from the stack, entitled, _Living Weapons_, Varus scanned the cover. It was plain and ancient, that was easily noted. The lettering was faded, but still readable and the book itself was in good condition for its apparent age. If it had an author, it wasn't given.

The work itself was actually small compared to the others in the dwindling tower that sat next to Varus. Its words, apparently, not needed much space to be written.

He opened the book to the first few pages and started reading.

_In this world, there exists certain, powerful beings of war. We call them the Darkins, but their true nature are all but known. These Darkins have had enormous impacts on history throughout the eons… _

As the introduction went on, Varus absorbed the major points effectively. The warrior-race that were Darkin are named after the weapons they wielded as arms and the exact number is unknown. Varus skipped through the book to land on an insert about Ionia.

_Only a few decades ago, in Ionia, a King rose to power. His subjects were to call him Pallas, but many speculate that his real name is unknown. Many records are available to recount his cruelty and prowess of the battlefield, but what make Pallas so interesting is the descriptions of his appearance. He was said to be extremely pale, gaunt and had a severely deformed arm. During this time, the feudal wars in Ionia were at their peak and accounts from Ionia tell of Pallas' ability to charge the front lines of battle with a bow and arrow, downing more in a minute than a man could in ten._

_Tales speak of not only his strength but the bow he wielded in his deformed hand. Some say he had a name he whispered to it, some say that the blood of his enemies fed the bow. _

_These observations initially led me to believe that Pallas was a Darkin, but perhaps not fully developed, due to his mostly-human appearance. What sold me was in his only, discovered, written words outside of policy. In a letter to a rival lord, Months before his death on the battlefield, Pallas wrote, "I am an Arrow. I do not think, but act as I am acted upon and the world has acted upon me to destroy you. This army I have is my progeny and my battles are my masterpieces, created through years of a single purpose. If you surrender, my path will turn to others, but if you resist, my bow shall be fed with your blood."_

_His words and descriptions of his weapon lead me to believe that he was a Darkin…_

The section continued, but to know real avail, mainly talking about other facts discussing his Darkin-like nature. The section ended with his death from a fatal wound to the chest, who the anonymous author claimed to come from another Darkin in a battle that if Pallas won, would mean the complete unison of Ionia under him.

Varus put down the book and reached for the next, not wanting to analyze the details until he knew all of the facts he could. The next piece on the pile was a large volume, entitled: _Contemporary Freljord_. The book was as thick as four fingers laid side by side, but a section was tabbed out already in the middle of the pages.

Varus open to the first marker, a folded sheet of paper and started to read.

_Tryndamere is the leader of the Barbarians, the nomadic warriors of the Freljord. Before he rose to power, he was said to challenge the other Barbarians to duels; securing his place among them as the strongest. In meetings with press, he often comes off as being well-spoken and reserved, but accounts from citizens tell of his rowdy nature in bars and when on the move._

_When he was young, his village was destroyed by raiders and a dark figure of a swordsman. Tryndamere recounts not accepting death and living through mortal wounds to challenge the swordsman, who quickly vanished. To this day, his sworn revenge has led him to become an amazing fighter…_

The rest of the section to the next divider only talked about some facts about Tryndamere that Varus deemed superfluous. At least, Varus thought, he had a place to start.

As he was readying to leave, he stretched and thought of alternatives, what if there wasn't a way to stall this further? If he turned… He can hear Pallas speak to him. He can feel the pull to battle. He can stop it now, but he didn't know for how long. His willpower alone might not be enough in time. There was another way, he thought. Maybe he did get enough of his revenge. If he died, right now, he wouldn't have to worry about the takeover. Varus believed in an afterlife, but he gave up the notions of gods. Gods wouldn't be so cruel, but the afterlife would let him see his family again.

He got up from the table, not bothering to put the pile of books anywhere or push his chair in and started walking back to his room. He stopped thinking about death and just envisioned sleep before he went to find Tryndamere in the morning. On his way to the room, he still felt the unfamiliar eyes on his back. It unnerved him, but he just wrote it off as superstition.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Dancing with Death**

* * *

><p>His senses crawled out from him like the tendrils that crawled on him, reaching far and leaving little behind. Varus awoke from his sleep moments ago, sensing the person in the room. He remained silent and kept his eyes closed. With his back turned to the wall in his bed, he could hear, ever so softly, the footsteps of the intruder in front of him. The weight, leaving the sounds of small rasps on the stone floor.<p>

Not wanting to let the assailant take him by more surprise, Varus choose the moment between footfalls to strike. Forming faster than the time it took for the person's foot to hit the ground, his bow was affixed to his arm and aimed forward. The only thing he saw was the wall, but the flash of time it took to position himself was enough for the other to get behind him, "I'm impressed," rang a female voice as a blade was pressed to his neck.

"Who are you and why are you here?" Varus demanded, arms rigid and face set in an aggressive air, ignoring the knife at his neck; if she wanted him dead, he wouldn't have been able to talk through the blood that would be pouring from him.

Lowering his arms and absorbing his bow, he brought his chin up with the same, calm motion of her hand, causing a small trickle of blood to well at her knife point as he was a second to slow.

The woman slowly lowered her arm, but didn't fully remove her tight grip on the handle. The woman seemed to appear immediately in front of him, crouching, with knife still to his throat, like she never moved. The red-haired girl responded in a throaty voice, "I see why they want you dead. I just wanted to see why they think you're so frightening."

She reminded him of a rose. In Ionia, there was no rose, but this main land's exotic beauties held things he never thought existed. The paradoxical beauty in the large petals and sharp thorns contrasted harshly, the beauty that had a bite. It didn't help that the assailant had hair that matched in color.

"Who are you?" He repeated to the woman clothed in darkness with sharp, steel augments.

"I'm the Sinister Blade, Master assassin of Noxus," The red haired woman said, eyes tracing the muscles on his chest, observing the lines where the creature that was Pallas took over.

Varus gazed ahead, into her eyes that screamed interest and a sadistic joy at holding a hostage at knife point. Her eyes looked back as she smiled, "Ionian warriors are always so attractive."

The confused and unsettled look in Varus' demeanor elicited soft laughs from the woman he now knew as Katarina Du Couteau, a noble of Noxus. She wasn't on his list, but Noxians were all dogs that needed to be put down. Varus snarled, showing his incisors.

Katarina smile grew deeper as she drew herself closer to the captive. "Captain Korem and his mistress, Lady Sobre, are dead, Varus," she whispered, sensing, with satisfaction, the tension in his muscles.

Those two were on his list, they needed to be killed. Even though he wasn't there to do it, he was glad the job was done. How she knew that he wanted them dead, he didn't know.

"What do you want?" he asked, unmoving, not wanting to die just yet.

She ignored the question and moved her body so that she pinned him to the bed with the knife and loomed over him. Not daring to look away, Varus obeyed the movements that she enacted on him. If he died here, he wouldn't be able to finish his purpse. As much as he considered suicide, he knew that his mission is still undone and he would try his hardest to finish it before he turned.

"When I said that I was impressed, I wasn't lying. You are the first person outside of my household to sense my approach," she said as her free arm was placed on his shoulder, pressing him to the bed.

She moved her knife south, tracing the old scars on his chest from battles in the past.

Knowing this was his moment, he rattled like a dog trying to break the neck of its prey, twisting to the side, throwing as much force to the edge opposite the wall as he could. He was hoping to regain his positioning and be on more even grounds, but Katarina expected the motion, lifting her legs swiftly and twisting herself around him. The arm on his shoulder moved to his fore arm, bringing his wrist behind his back. Varus lay, again, in an equally submissive position, stomach to his sheets, arm at an angle behind his back, pulling his elbow into a spot of extreme discomfort.

"Powerful men are attractive," she said, adding torque to his wrist, causing him to grunt in pain.

Remaining silent, she placed her other hand to the side of his head and brought her hips around to lay on his buttocks, which were covered, but were still a seething mass of purple. Coming down again, to his ear, she breathed onto his neck, the warmth, admittingly making him glad he lay into the sheets.

"Noxians like a fight," she said as she pressed her body to his back, "I'm disappointed you couldn't even honor me with that." Pausing to lift herself off of him, she responded, "I don't think you'll be able to kill Riven, Varus, she can actually fight me off."

Feeling emasculated and angry, Varus noticed the disappearance of the weight on his torso. Katarina vanished as fast as she appeared.

Not bothering to move, he lay there, convincing himself that the wetness he felt on his face was sweat.

* * *

><p>Varus wasn't able to sleep. He had a match today, but he was so exhausted, he didn't know if it would be possible perform. When he heard a knock on the door, he righted himself in his bed and stood up. He wore only thick, woolen pants that hid the corruption. The knocking continued and Varus approached the door with a look of unsettled contempt present.<p>

What greeted him was not what he expected.

"Hello!" her voice rang through the hallway.

"Hi?" Varus responded, confused.

"The matches got cancelled today," the summoner told him, her unnerving smile as overly big and fake-looking as usual. Felisia was not a high-ranking summoner and as such, she acted as an errand running fairly regularly. "You had an early match today, so the word hasn't really traveled yet." She eyed him up, seeing the small scar on his neck and weary eyes, "Have you been sleeping well, Varus?" Felisia asked, trying to come off concerned, but the exaggeration made Varus still feel uncomfortable.

"Yes, fine, thank you," Varus said quickly, ending their conversation and shutting the door.

He needed to leave, get last night out of his mind and pretend it never happened. _I could have helped you, Varus_, Pallas spoke mentally. Ignoring the words, Varus made for the shower, he had things he needed to do today.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to get you something before my next break. Classes suck. :P (4-13-14)<strong>

**-BoredToday**


	8. Chapter 8

**5-2-14. Just like to say thank you to everyone that is keeping up to date, favoriting and following, but especially reviewing. Out of curiosity, I checked this story's stats compared to other League fanfics and this story was around the 10% mark in all categories. With only 8 chapters, an inconsistent publishing schedule and the fact that this is my first and only fanfic I've ever written, I would just like to say thank you again. As always, please review, favorite and follow!**

* * *

><p><strong>-BoredTodai<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 8: The Form of a Man<span>**

* * *

><p>It was still very early when Varus left his room. Judging by the sun outside his only window, facing the south, it was just, now, dawn. He wore thickly tied leather leggings and a vambrace as a symbol of his past work. His crimson scarf hid the scar on his neck, not wanting to show his failures. He knew that people judged him on his appearance, and honestly, he didn't really care that they did, but he knew his best bet for remaining at the institute would be by staying on neutral terms with the other champions.<p>

He closed the door and locked it with the sharp, metal key they gave him. Turning, he started to walk to the courtyard in the center of the massive building. It was too early to search for Tyrndamere in the Freljord district in the northern parts of the institute, but it wasn't too early to get some food and desperate fresh air. He wasn't hungry, but he still decided to pick up something from a vender anyway.

As he walked the halls and left the far eastern wing of the palace, the smooth stone beneath his boots started to convert to clay tiles. The walls rapidly followed pace, becoming bricks, evenly paced. This signaled a different section of the Institute. If Varus remembered correctly, it was the spare areas, where people who claimed no allegiance stayed.

The smells of the main courtyard called to him when he turned the corner. The fresh bread from the bakery yelling to be consumed, the meals from the small stands being fried and cooked, their juices letting out their secrets of happiness and satisfaction. To Varus, it all smelled... off.

He took measured strides to the courtyard entrance, hoping few were up as early as him. His hopes were dashed as he entered the open, grassy, central campus. The grounds weren't filled; but there was a sizable crowd of champions, summoners and shopkeepers. Varus sighed and walked on, avoiding the outright stares from the unaccustomed others to his appearance.

Maybe he did mind the people who thought him alien and weird, he thought, taking in their looks like a cockroach would light. The basking attention faltered as he came up to a modest stand with a plump woman sold pastries of various colors and scents that made Varus slightly nauseous. Her face held concern and a polite smile.

"Hello, how can I help you?" She asked, smile spreading, her checks absorbing her lips at the corners.

"Could I get two of those sweet rolls and what is that made of?" Varus asked, pointing to a small textured piece of bread, consisting of many folds of a dark powder.

"Oh, that's a snail bun, it has chocolate and cinnamon in it," the portly, smiling woman responded, continuing, "would you like one?"

"Yes, please," Varus said, spying a little, blonde girl standing behind the woman, who he presumed was the shop keeper's daughter. He smiled as friendly as the evil on his skin allowed him. She couldn't have been older than six years, her hair barely reaching below her shoulders, she licked her fingers, finishing a small slice of pie.

"Alright, that will be three silvers," the mother said, placing the small bag of baked goods on the counter.

As he dug in his pocket for his money, the daughter remarked, "Woah, mom, why doesn't that guy have eyeballs?"

Varus knew she wouldn't understand but it didn't stop him from frowning. He lost his iris almost immediately after he turned… Drawing forth his money, he placed it on the counter and left without saying a word, while the woman scolded her child.

As Varus walked to a more abandoned region of the grounds, he pretended he was in the forest near the village he once lived in. The soft grass and light breeze always made him feel comfortable and relaxed. The dew under him was a refreshing cold, the rising sun, warming his skin. He sat in a corner, alone, isolated with just a tree for company. He wondered if it was his choice or his politeness to the others outside with them.

The lilac-colored man ate one of the sweet rolls, the flavor nearly exotic, considering he hadn't had one in years. His tastes seemed to have changed and the memories of sugar and flaky bread were replaced by the dull comparison of what he ate. Varus figured that the culprit was most likely not the baker, but rather the enemy that lapped at him from below the navel.

His thoughts drifted as he finished hte first roll, where he laid down and tested the "snail bun" as he heard it called. The more savory flavors appealing to him, but not as vibrant as he thought they should have been. Varus laid sprawled, the early morning sun not yet placing him in the light and the nearby tree guarding much of what would become direct sunlight. Feeling more relaxed, the pale main drifted into the oblivion that was sleep, alone and set aside from the world.

* * *

><p>She wished the summoner told her that her game was canceled later. Syndra would have preferred more sleep, but her mood was still high, she'd rather not be the plaything of a summoner today. Unable to will herself back to sleep, she decided to complete her morning rituals and go take a walk.<p>

As she was combing her hair, she debated on what to do with this free day she was given. Ideas of traversing the woods out her window seemed appealing, but she heard the claws of hunger reach her stomach. Used to being forlorn, she knew how to cook, but today, Syndra wanted to treat herself to something else.

She finished brushing her hair and exited her room. Turning around, she reentered to get her money, then left again, locking the door to her room. The key she had for her room was rather toothy, sometimes sticking to the lock, getting caught on the bearings on its way out, but today, the door showed mercy, freeing the young woman to leave like a corrupt jailer.

She walked rather quickly, the dark halls always made her nervous, but today she had more reason as she felt her stomach call for her. The halls turned to brick and tile, the rooms of the unaffiliated were here. As Syndra proceeded, the air answered her senses, the smells alluring her further in her stride. The purple woman slowed herself, sensing the urgency in her pace that she didn't want to run free.

* * *

><p>"Beautiful day out today, isn't it?" a woman asked from beside Varus.<p>

His calm sleep quickly abandoned him as he realized that he didn't sense the approach. Fearing the worse, he opened his eyes slowly, pretending to have only laid down, resting. "Hello," he told Syndra, sitting a few feet away in the sun, her hair, falling around her neck, covering her front while her legs, in their usual tight black cloth, were crossed, held out from her. She rested on her arms, propping her body into a slightly obtuse angle.

"Sorry to wake you up, but I just wanted to say that I am sorry about how rude I was to you on your first day," She replied to his greetings.

Varus hated to admit it, but, judging by the obscured sun through the leaves of the tree he lay under, he must have slept for hours. Luckily, it was still morning and he had plenty of time to find Tyrndamere. Deciding to say something, he reminded her, rather sourly, "This time, I _am_ wearing clothes."

"I liked it more when you didn't," Syndra said, passing her gaze over him, smiling and feeling confident with her choice of words.

Being reminded of his prior-night escapade, he chose to ignore her, sit up and stretch, laughing inwardly to himself. _She's insane! I'm visibly close to edge of corruption; she must have a death wish._

Seeing Syndra's confidence fade from her face as her words elicited no response from him made him smirk ever so slightly. He hated to think it, but he admired the confidence she had to even approach the half-creature that he was.

Varus dropped his lips and set his eyes into a more serious tone as he finally responded, "Thank you for waking me."

It wasn't the reaction that Syndra hoped for, but it was a reaction and that alone made her feel relieved. "Don't mention it," the pale girl in the sun replied.

In reflection, Varus admitted to himself that his own gaze was hard to keep contact with, but the sorceress didn't even flinch or back away. His stare seemed to be piercing through her. Outside of the summoners controlling him in his matches, he neglected conversing with people. He preferred the silence of his self-imposed isolation that, he believed people were grateful for. If his new form was anything, he reasoned with himself, it was unnerving; even if he had a purpose that needed to be completed, he didn't allow his thirst be quenched at the expense of the innocent's piece of mind.

"May I ask you something," Varus started, trying to form words to his new found curiosity. The sense of approval from the woman's eyes that didn't stray from his urged him on further. "Why are you so… friendly?" Varus decided.

Raising a snowy brow, Syndra answered in a question, "What do you mean?"

Struggling mentally to figure out how to word his response, Varus answered, "How do you not feel in danger next to a voidling with the form of a man?"

"How do you not want to run away from the 'Dark Sovereign'?" She replied, sarcastically, although her eyes appeared downtrodden and outcast. After a pause, Syndra continued, "Have you even met Malzahar? His voidlings are so cute."

Varus smiled in earnest, he wished he could explain how Pallas spoke to him or how he was starting to slip, but he didn't want to worry her or anyone she told.

His smile made Syndra feel warmer in the morning sunlight. She didn't show it, but she felt as if her day was made.

For a while, they just sat in silence. Syndra repositioned herself to lay on her back, the soft grass, like a cool pillow on her back and neck. The sun's light casting shadows on the planes of her smooth form, she spoke, "I can understand how you fell asleep."

A breeze shifted the leaves in the tree above them and Varus shivered in his cross-legged position. The hair on his forehead waved to the side as he started to stand. "Again, thank you for waking me, but I need to go now."

Rising to her elbows, Syndra replied with her own thanks for their small conversation.

* * *

><p>Tryndamere didn't take too long to find. The people in the northern hallways were helpful and kind to the half man in a way that recognized and respected his strength, even if he could feel their fear just as distinctly. Coming to a hallway, Varus slowed, he was told that this hallway, marked by a mural of a tree taken over by ice, was the corridor of the Freljord nobility.<p>

Deciding to stop at a door randomly, he knocked on the hard spruce of a door at the mouth of the hallway.

Before his fist connected, the door swung backwards on its hinges, startling him inside, but exteriorly, he remained unphased. The man that awaited before him was towering. His bulk was massive and lopsided to a favored arm. From the descriptions he heard and the matches he had with him in it, Varus knew this was Tryndamere.

"Umm… Hello?" the tall man uttered behind the mangy hair covering his forehead.

"Are you Tryndamere?" Varus asked in a normal voice, remaining stoic.

"Who's asking?" The overbearing man asking, walking outside his room.

"I have a reason to believe that talking to you could help us both," the purple man replied.

"Is that so?" The Barbarian King said with a questioning, yet imposing demeanor.

Varus didn't back down. He started, "Do you have a place where we could talk? Or at least hear me out?" He didn't bother remaining polite. In his years, he learned what to look for in body language. The way that the man stood, his visage's deadpan look spoke more than the most talkative of yordles.

* * *

><p><em>I'll make a deal, if you review my story, I'll pm you a shitt-ily drawn ms paint of any champ(s) in the league that you specify.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: In Control**

* * *

><p>Something didn't seem right…<p>

"Hey Varus!" a boy in jeans and a leather jacket exclaimed, his left hand enamored in the gold and steel of a gauntlet that marked him as The Prodigal Explorer.

Moving to slip around him, Varus continued with the blonde-haired following kid behind him. Ignoring the boy's words, he continued on in the stone hallway. The paranoia shifting his focus to behind every corner and hallway.

The young man's words were buzzing about the hallway like a gnat by Varus' ear. He drowned them out with the troubled thoughts he held.

* * *

><p><em>"I don't know, I just… use—what is already there. I think the power was already there, just sleeping, waiting to be used," Tryndamere said, shifting in his seat, a warm glass of beer held to his mouth. <em>

_Varus was never a big drinker, so his cup was half-filled with plain water, which arose strange looks from the barbarian across from him. "I was hoping for a different answer… This presence is alien. The corruption was never present in me before," the archer responded._

_"It might still be Darkin," Tryndamere said, having just learned the name of the likely culprit for his prowess in battles. _

_"True… Thank you for the talk, but I'm on borrowed time," Varus said, wincing a very forced smile, "Please notify me if you find any information that I could use."_

_"Sure, sure," the hulking man replied, face contorted into a genuine smile, "I wonder if you were like this before." Moving to exit the room, Varus only laughed, not artificially, if a bit desperate._

* * *

><p>"…I think I know a bit about Pallas that could help you," Ezreal said, the words ringing in Varus ears, he slowed to a stop, but didn't turn. "Have you heard of the Darkin, before?"<p>

Eliciting a second actual laugh in the same day, Varus was surprised he still remembered how to chuckle as he continued walking on the plain stone floors that radiated a coldness that mimicked his mood.

* * *

><p>Varus' mind was a painter's canvas before he picked up his first brush. His thoughts were of only his surroundings and those were not unpleasant to him. The dim light from outside didn't reach to where Varus was sitting on a bench, under an overhang in one of the many courtyards separating common rooms and halls. This courtyard just happened to be the one separating the Demacian living quarters from the unaligned.<p>

The grass here was very meticulously kept, the each blade being severed whenever it stood taller than its brethren. The gray-hue that seemed placed on each shoot seem personally painted by tradesmen under Varus' focused gaze. The color only complimented the navy and white on the broad, Demacian banners and Varus could not fathom the reason for such ridiculous care for something so trivial, but he spent little time entertaining the thought.

The garden in the center surrounding a small, brick-lined pond had many small flowers. He spotted a wildflower that grew in the forest next to his village. Standing, he walked toward the purple set of flowers that exploded petals at the tips of their stems. Crouching, he took hold of one of the delicate buds between his fingers and gently brought his face in to smell its scent.

The fragrance reminded him of the past and as hard as he struggled to remember the name of the flower, his fauna knowledge seemed locked in the past. Varus released the stem from his grip and instead of standing up and going elsewhere, he sat on his haunches and looked out over the grounds. The breeze brushed his hair from his eyes. Varus reminisced and felt peaceful, given his current situation.

His peace was broken by the soft crunch of grass that signaled him to vacate the grounds. His rise from a crouch was silent and stealthy, not even a rabbit would have heard his movement. "Varus! Hey! What are you doing here?" A high-pitched girl nearly yelled from the Demacian end of the courtyard. Her blonde hair fell just past her shoulders and the lack of wrinkles on her face marked her youth even more-so than her demeanor.

Varus contorted his face to be as emotionless as he could when he responded with, "I'm just out smelling the flowers." His face may not have had emotion, but his tone contained volumes.

Laughing, a small bout of a horrible screech of a laugh, Lux continued to come next to the pond in the center of the courtyard. Her actions might have implied a willingness to join Varus in smelling the roses, daisies and tulips, but she never made eye contact and almost refused to look at Varus, as if the blight would jump into her next if she only were to see it.

Pointing to a flower with large blue petals, she exclaimed that it was her favorite. "It's called a gentian," she said, "My mom liked to grow them a lot when I was young."

"What is the name of this one?" Varus asked pointing to the Ionian wildflower with a sweat smell.

"Oh, that one is a sweat pea," Lux said, surprised to hear the question from the voice of the man nearly a decade older than her, next to her. Varus gave a weak smile with some effort as she continued, "They are supposed to grow like dandelions in Ionia, aren't they?"

Varus, is an uncharacteristic mood nodded and thanked the light sorceress. He turned to walk out of the courtyard, but stopped near the unaligned side. He wanted to say something, but his mind couldn't formulate words. He looked straight ahead, away from the courtyard. Deciding to leave and get away from the child-like woman, he continued onward, refusing to betray his composure and let his hesitation show through the steely face he held.

* * *

><p>Today was a good day. All of the news aside, the Arrow of Retribution felt like the jovial mood he was in couldn't be broken by the tethers that ravaged his skin; his mind could fool itself into believe that nothing had changed from yesterday or the day before—that he didn't feel the end approaching.<p>

Like the inevitable, and in common form of the day, he also didn't sense the approach of another person because of his daydreaming. The idle thoughts of curiosity were immediately vanquished as he recognized a scent he just smelled moments ago. The invisible vapors of the woman held him mesmerized as the Ionian wildflower fragrance held him confused once again. _Who was that?_ Varus thought to himself, slowly turning to focus his eyes on Syndra, who was leaving her room.

_Wha…._ His thoughts were cut short as his foot caught on a package outside of his door. Even though he hit it mid stride, the box only moved a few inches and proceeded to catch on an uneven brick of stone. Varus, still caught off-guard started to fall forward onto his stomach with his momentum when an invisible source tugged at his scarf and another force pushed his other foot ahead of himself so he could catch his descent in a kneeling position.

"Are you alright?" Syndra asked worryingly, one arm aimed in his direction with spread fingers, her other by her side, fingers loosely held together.

Impressed by her quickness, Varus regained his feet as he turned around to thank the Sovereign. He tried to make words come to his lips, but nothing seemed to venture out while his mind felt the triggers of pain cause by his stumble. He blankly stared at Syndra whose eyes turned from worried to curious. Deciding to close his jaw and regain his senses, he simply said, "Thank you," and gave a slow, small bow.

"I'm glad I was out here," she responded with a similar look about her, like she didn't know what to think. "How did you trip on that box anyway? Are you sure you're alright?"

She received little response as he stated that he was only "distracted," but the way the archer stumbled to grab his box and the reflection of red on his face from something more than his scarf left Syndra feeling both flattered and nervous.

* * *

><p>Entering his room quickly, Varus first released the pent up air he had in his lungs. He then examined his foot for any sort of damage; upon seeing none, he lifted his gave to the corner of his empty room. Struggling to let go of the heat in his cheeks, the blanket of personal tension in the room dissipated as quickly as it came. He removed his confused thoughts and remembered the weight in his hand.<p>

The box was unexpected and the weight was odd for something that he could grip in one hand rather easily. He didn't know of anyone who would send him things, which piqued his interest further. Searching and failing to find any sort of identification, he pulled at the corners which were attached by a sort of glue to the thick, heavy paper.

His gaze fell on a piece of paper and a small, ornate statue of Owl. The stone used was smooth and white. It held a polish and had lines, almost like small veins, of gray, black, gold and red mixed into it. The eyes of the figurine were not of the same stone, but of a certain opaque, red gemstone that Varus knew not of. Taking his eyes off of the owl, the accompanying letter was written in a very careful script, the lines smooth and easily readable after what must have taken long years of practice.

_Varus,_

_Most everyone would be better off not knowing when their final day is, but you might be able to benefit from knowing when the end nears you. _

_I heard stories as a child of a rock that could tell how near the verge of death a person with an incurable disease was when it was touched. I always regarded it as myth and never thought of it until you joined the league. _

_After consulting with Taric out of curiosity, he acknowledged its existence and after he agreed to gather a couple for me, I had him place them in this statue. _

_Once you touch it, the eyes of the Wise Owl will only grow darker until the day of your death, or corruption, in this case, where the eyes shall be darker than even the furthest recesses of any cave. _

_I hope for your troubled spirit to find peace._

_-Karma, the Enlightened One_

* * *

><p><em>8-21-14 Sorry for the wait :_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: New**** Year's** (pt. 1)

* * *

><p>Varus' gaze was met by an owl-shaped statue's light-red eyes as he awoke. The stare as ominous as a hardened prisoner about to be hanged. Varus quickly averted his own eyes and rose from his bed, the light making him pull his brow together and narrow his eyes to slits in uncomfortably bright light. The sun was only half-way over the roof of the nearby building further west, so the archer felt like he had plenty of time before his first match set for just before mid-day.<p>

He got the message of the match to be had the day prior, the game was to be between two Ionians seeking claims over a swath of land. One demanded that the area be developed into a weapon manufacturer and, the one he was to be playing for, wanted the land to be saved and preserved, fearing that the building of the factory next to the nearby Monk sanctuary would upset the balance of the area.

Varus held no interest in which claim was the more constructed or right one. Along with the summons came a set of clothing instructions that Varus was used to by this time. The summoners were able to make their champion look different than what they did on the Fields and his summoner requested a specific look that the league deemed to be called _"Blight Crystal."_

Varus picked up a pair of pants from his drawer that were a navy leaning into black. He strapped a pair of plated-steel shin guards on that rose to just above the knee. He fetched his ringed armguards and black shawl-like scarf that rose to sit just below his eyes. His pauldron that he wore today flipped the stone to the other side and lastly, the diadem he was to wear was a half-crown of orange, crystalized stone.

Gathering his composure, Varus walked out of the room, making way for the main courtyard where champions were sent off by summoners to the Rift. He passed down the corridors and was surprised by the amount of festivities he witnessed. Reaching into his brain for reasons for the unnatural rise of activity in the halls, he failed to pull any understandable reason out.

Reaching to the last few corners in the wide hallways, Varus almost ran into a few hanging lanterns and tripped on small, unlit candles. Here and there posters were raised with odd markings that Varus recognized as words from the script used by Ionia. _Start_, _Celebration_, _Together_, were all markings that Varus recognized, but he still had little clue as to the reason for their sudden appearance in less than a day's time.

The main courtyard was busier than usual, with venders decorating their stands and many more summoners than usual, wearing elaborate robes of various colors that seemed mock-Ionian. The lilac-man with an orange diadem and black scarf walked to the center, eliciting fewer looks than usual wading among the vast sea of colors.

"Oh hey, Varus!" a summoner exclaimed, excitedly from a wide, wooden platform sporting a few chairs.

Without saying words, Varus nodded and walked toward her, understanding that his get-up wasn't full, yet. The Institute held power, very immense. Their magic could do amazing and horrifying things, which is part of the reason that they could gather the cooperation that they did. One of the things that the Institute could with its power is change the way that people looked to others. For when the summoners wanted to display their power, they could change the champions to look different when summoned.

This summoner who was in charge of appearance changing had a name Varus couldn't bother to remember. Her dark face was shown through the purple robes that marked her rank; her hair fell to both sides in brown curls that reached to her collar bone. She motioned for him to take a seat, moving her broad shoulders, but skinny body to make room for him to pass.

"Marc will be with you in just a bit," she replied, with as much sweetness in her voice as a handful of honey.

Varus didn't really like most of the summoners. They all seemed so kind out of their battle-games, but in the matches, their more-true natures showed in how they talked to each other. Their two-faced nature was something that took time to get used to, but Varus managed to just be plainly apathetic to them.

Marc, a man about a half-decade younger than Varus made way to him, pulling on the side of his long, dark, greased mustache. "Blight Crystal is it, today?" he asked, plainly.

Varus replied affirmatively; unlike the other summoners, Marc didn't bother hiding his emotion from the champions.

"I hate doing this one; just do me a favor and not move around much when I'm placing your tattoo," Marc said flatly, like a man who hated his job, not caring to see how the archer responded as he stepped toward his shoulder.

The mustached man combed his fingers through his parted hair and sighed quickly before starting an incantation to cover up the marking of the wise owl on Varus' shoulder. As he quietly started to chant, Varus looked out over the courtyard in his padded, wooden chair. The arms to the chair were made for someone slightly shorter than him, but he made due by crouching forward and leaning onto his thighs, rejecting the support of the slightly short, wooden arms.

Across the grass, near an exit to the Piltover corridors, Varus spied a blonde haired girl talking to a blonde haired boy in jeans and a jacket, sporting various belts and an armored gauntlet that glowed blue. Giving time for his eyes to adjust to the distance, as his training from years ago taught him, he brought the couple closer in his mind and understood the boy to be the Prodigal Explorer and the girl to be Luxanna Crowngaurd.

Varus stood still, keeping his gaze focused and made out the boy stepping forward and pulling a large blue flower from his back that, Varus recognized, was a gentian. The boy mumbled a few small words before carefully handing off the flower to the girl with his unarmored hand. Varus' could make out Ezreal's embarrassed smile as his naked hand came to sweep through his mess of hair and Lux ran at him in a hug that surprised the boy, forcing him to take a step back from the impact.

Lux turned around and quickly made way for the center courtyard where she met Varus' eyes. Her flustered face went pink as she looked away from the man in the raised chair.

"Hey, Lux," Varus beckoned her over, making sure not to move too much, in case Marc messed up the illusion technique.

As she came closer, face still rosy, but contorted into mild confusion, she asked, "What is it?"

"What is with all of this," Varus motioned with his eyes to the people preparing for some sort of grand party.

"You must really not be Ionian anymore, I guess," Marc replied sarcastically from over his right shoulder.

"It's the Ionian New Year!" Lux exclaimed, "Since the Ionians have been becoming more and more numerous here at the Institute, the Council kind of made it a tradition here."

"Is that so?" Varus replied, suddenly making sense of the posters and various decorations he witnessed.

In Ionia, the tradition of New Year's was a very important one. It was the mark of the end of summer and start of fall. All across Ionia, people stopped their harvests for three days and celebrated this holiday with feasts, balls and the occasional explosives show -or firework show, according to the people of Piltover, which only big cities had the resources to hold.

People thought of New Year's as a clean slate for things to be built upon. Criminals with minor crimes were released on this day and people with debts had small portions forgiven. Varus stopped celebrating New Year's a few years ago, after he had no way of starting anew. Pallas would not release him from this self-imposed prison and would not give back the flesh he already took from him.

Caught in his own thoughts, Varus was unaware of the question that Lux poised for him. "Varus, are you listening?" Lux asked, brows pulled close in a look of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, what did you say," the former temple guard asked.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come with the group I'm going with to the firework show that Ziggs is having tonight," she replied, losing the tone of annoyance.

Caught off-guard, Varus pushed his back to the chair, causing Marc to lose balance and fall to his hind side.

"What the hell, Varus!" Marc said in a raised voice, mild anger appearing in his dark eyes, past the long bangs that now covered his face.

"Ahh, well, I don't celebrate New Year's," Varus told the young, blonde woman.

"Well, you really aren't Ionian, are you," Marc said, pulling himself up and brushing his hair out of his eyes, face once again neutral and seemingly uncaring.

* * *

><p>The match was to start soon and the tattoo of The Wise Owl that Varus typically sported was now replaced by many diamond box-shaped tattoos centering on his now blue shoulder. His corrupted arms were shaded and molded an orange color for this look to sync up with the shade of stone in his diadem. The bow he typically wielded was also altered to appear more like an orange half-crescent than his usual long-bow.<p>

"Awh, you aren't purple today!" a disappointed girl's voice rang out.

The yordle known as Lulu always had some sort of particular liking to Varus that even Varus, himself had no clue as to why. Today, she wore her usual garb of a purple and pick striped shirt under a maroon and yellow jacket paired with a large pointed hat of the same coloration that's tip fell over nearing its peak. She wielded a wicked staff that was as aged as she proclaimed to be.

Her companion, Pix, was floating around her in a lackadaisical haze, not bothering to care where he was in relation to Lulu, so long as he was near her.

"I guess my summoner prefers blue," Varus replied, gently, concerned that Lulu would get to riled up or excited if he responded differently.

"Your summoner is stupid!" Lulu practically yelled, eliciting a half-frown from Varus that his tone didn't help and a half-smile from the concept that Lulu had of him.

"Man, I hope not," Varus replied in a routine way of keeping the conversation less stressed than it needed to be.

Lulu's perpetual grin widened upon Varus' words. "Don't worry, I'll protect you!" She responded, face immediately turning serious as she wielded her staff like the rat a dozen yards away held his crossbow. She pretended to shoot mock bolts, with sound effects, as Varus smirked.

"Champions of the Leag-"

Lulu continued talking, under the words that all champions who've been in the Institute have memorized by this time. "We have to lane against Mister Thresh, though!" Pointing toward the apparition of Thresh, with his jacket on and his spectral chains acting almost like a belt. Lulu retreated into her hat, as if the extra coverage would make her invisible to the warden.

"Step forward." The lead summoner stated, signaling the start of sending them to the Rift.

Varus gave Lulu an encouraging look before he made his way to the sending platform. The look seemed to work, as Lulu peered carefully out from underneath her encompassing hat.

* * *

><p>The magic that was from the League was alien. Each bolt of power seemed to destroy you and create you when you were sent to the Field. The rejuvenated feeling you had in you never diminished while you were under the control of the summoner. You could draw a bow for hours, run for days, but this magic had its limits.<p>

Varus peered out from the Rift's fountain across the expansive jungles to the three marked lanes far away from him. As his companions arrived, he drew his ethereal bow and readied his grip. _It's been too long,_ he thought to himself, stretching his back, making himself ready.

* * *

><p><em>I'm really disappointed by Riot's decision on what will happen with the lore. Removing the main instrument to the game undermines all the lore beneath it. Some champions won't have a place without summoners (ie. Lee Sin), which would require lore reworks; but my main problem is that now there is no reason for the Champions to fight.<em>

_I don't want the game to just be a mindless deathmatch; I want meaning and reason for the fighting. The thought that champs should be autonomous during the league would have Lucian friendly firing on Thresh, Garen using his ultimate on his team's Draven and Varus landing all of his Piercing Arrows on his own top lane Riven._

_Really disappointed that Riot thinks that the best way to make more lore is by removing the corner stone of it._

_-Bored_

(9-7-14)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: New Year's** (Part 2)

* * *

><p>Well… Varus didn't let Lulu down; that was for sure. If anything, Varus was worried that the results of the lane would've scared Lulu, of his curse, more than anything. Less than twenty minutes in the match, Varus' team won and the Ionian's dispute over land was decided to be preserved. The young man looked down to his support, worry cracking at his overly-keen eyes.<p>

"Feuw, feuw, feuw," Lulu chanted, while releasing the string to her imaginary bow. Varus' eyes grew distant. "You have to teach me how to be as cool as you!" she said, breaking into a wide grin, throwing her arm forward in an impression of how Varus slipped corruption into the other champions.

What the archer saw, was not Lulu, he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.

The world around him turned to ash and blood. The smile that appeared in an instant that was Theshan was wiped away, similar to how Varus' grin evaporated. The flash of a memory had ended as soon as it came. Holding back tears, Varus reopened his eyes, and saw Lulu, before him. He crouched down and told her, "And I wish I could be as cool as you." Varus' expression was not of pain, but of slight grieving, "How did you learn all of your magic?"

"O-oh… Well… P-pix taught me some, but I think I just grew into it one day," the Fae Sorceress answered, slowly. Sensing some feelings that the man had, asked, "Is something wrong?... Did I make you mad?" She rose an eyebrow that disappeared into her hairline; her hat was lost somewhere, probably fell off when she got back to the Institute and pretended to be mighty a bowman.

Varus smiled and tousled her hair, like he would his late son, "No, no. I'm not mad at you," he soothed, "Thank you Lulu for worrying about me, though."

Lulu didn't get time to get another line in before Varus was walking away. His stature was fitting of nobility, the archer's head held above the horizon, looking forward.

_Why…_ Varus was troubled. _Lulu… Lux… Syndra… This isn't… Why…_ He didn't let his inner feelings show though to his exterior. He was trained to conceal his appearance. Common rituals in Ionian culture called for one to separate themselves from what they desire. Varus forsake those teachings long ago, when he first turned to Pallas; but... _N-no –this isn't right. I want nothing but revenge._ _I will make them pay_.

Varus walked in silence, his footsteps where abnormally loud in his head. He liked to think it was nothing, but he knew better and stopped abruptly, remaining still. The footsteps in his echo faltered behind him.

"Umm… Mister Varus?" Lulu's voice was a little scared.

Varus turned his head to see Lulu, his silhouette a dark outline on the smooth stone that were the walls of the corridor. He didn't know who was following him, but he was glad that it wasn't someone more… Sinister.

Understanding that she wouldn't get a reply, Lulu continued, "If you need someone to talk to, me and Pix are always here."

Varus returned to his stride. _Dammit._ He will not sway; he cannot sway. _This isn't… I am as good as dead already._

He got to his door after what seemed forever. His frustration aspirating itself in a cold silence. His fingers slipped on the handle to his room. He steeled himself. He is vengeance and he will end those dogs, he assured himself.

"Uhh… Varus?" A mid-ranged tone of a woman appeared behind him like mist on a cool morning. Varus opened his eyes, pretending that he wasn't so torn. "Are you alright?" Syndra asked.

Varus twisted his wrist and opened the door. "I'm fine," he whispered, shutting himself inside his room. Or… Well—tried to shut himself in, but the door wouldn't completely seal itself, an unknown disturbance blocking its path.

"Are you sure?" Syndra called from outside.

The young man released his grip on the knob and put his back against the grain of the door. He remained silent, wishing for this… woman… to leave him be.

Understanding the hesitation to speak, Syndra called back from outside, but her words were undistinguishable among the concussive hammering that was his inner monologue.

_I am Varus. I am Vengeance. I have nothing left but my desire. I hate Noxus… _The made-up mantra did little to sooth the identity crisis that faced the young archer. _I… have… som—_no. _No, this didn't change anything. I am cursed. Pallas…_ Did he feel regret? Varus was unsure. "I hate this…" the man said to no one.

He heard a sigh and footsteps, leaving his door, and was flooded with embarrassment, realizing the good chance that the sorceress likely overheard a fraction of his inner-dialogue.

* * *

><p>Night was falling on the Institute. It's been hours since Varus returned to his room. He luckily didn't have any more scheduled games for the day, so his stupor was allowed to dissipate. The man took the time to reaffirm his convictions.<p>

_It doesn't matter what happens. I am essentially dead already, this is borrowed time._

His new lease seemed to have spoken to soon as the dead silence that was his room caught the shuffling of footsteps outside. The clack of boots hitting the stone floors rang out dully behind his door, each one becoming more pronounced before they suddenly paused.

Breathing in heavily and sighing, Varus lifted himself from his bed. The tapping on his door was gentle, but carried weight and definitely a premeditated purpose.

"Hello," Syndra said from the hallway. She wore some of her typical casual wear, but dashed on some more makeup than usual. Varus didn't find it unappealing, but maybe a bit unpracticed, comparing her to the other women of his life.

"Hello," Varus replied casually, likely one of the few times he ever greeted the girl in front of him.

She seemed to take notice to the odd situation. "Are you feeling better, now? You seemed pretty… off? Earlier…"

Varus took a deep breath, "I'm doing fine, now. Today's the New Year's festival, right?" Varus wove in the question to try and get the topic changed, fearing that a single misstep could give too much away about his troubles that he wished none to know.

Syndra nodded and affirmed, causing her gray-white hair to bob back and forth like curtains in a slight breeze.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Syndra replied, denying posthaste.

"I remember in Ionia, during the festival, that they have some really nice food that I haven't had for a long time. Would you like to go?" Varus asked, politely. Even if nothing would change and he will surely die (or something similar) soon, it's wasn't right to treat someone as if they were the one to cause him harm. Maybe his days were like an hourglass nearly through its cycle, but even so, that didn't make Syndra his enemy.

The mage was taken aback by mild surprise and nervousness, her anxiety spun from the fact that no one really asked for her to do anything before. "Uh, sure," she replied, hiding as best as she could, the nervousness in her voice—to moderate success.

* * *

><p>Varus and Syndra both wore rather casual clothes, which for the festival, was different than that of most. Varus' wool pants, scarf and half-shirt along with Syndra's sweater, leggings and boots were vastly different from the traditional Ionian clothing that surrounded them like a puddle would a pebble. Sighting the two together, a young girl waved and nearly screamed from across the courtyard to garner their attention.<p>

The few people who didn't expect such outbursts from Lux turned to sight the source of the piecing voice, to see a young woman, probably on the verge of reaching her second decade with a boyish man of similar age, possibly a bit younger. Both shared sharp blue eyes and blonde hair, but the man's seemed to try its hardest to escape his head, darting each and every way, while the woman's was straight and pulled back into a small, loose bun.

The girl wore a traditional dress, the blue and brown design complimenting her features, but Varus felt as if it was a girl dressing in a costume, rather than the real thing. On further thought, the cursed man realized he only thought that because she was Demacian, instead of Ionian and crossed the front on the wrong side.

Under the range of Lux's hearing, but enough for Syndra to pick up what he said, he asked, "Is she going to her funeral?"

The small chuckle from his companion brought small pride to him, _I still got it,_ he thought in minor sureness. As the young blonde couple approached them, Varus just realized that the boy wasn't dressed up in a costume, preferring a more modern look from Piltover. His jacket and various belts were a testament to the variety of cultures and clothing in Runeterra.

"I didn't think that I would see you guys here!" Lux said in one of her more high-pitched (if that was possible) tones. "Are you guys going on a date?!" She asked slyly, attempting to judge their reactions.

Varus cracked something akin to a smile, but on a much lower scale, "That isn't it," Varus stated. Syndra seemed to fold in on herself, her cold, forced demeanor evaporating, so slightly, that Varus doubted that the light mage or her associate would've noticed anything. Still, she retained her posture perfectly, although a growing shade in her cheeks and lack of eye contact marked her. He continued, "I haven't been to a New Year's Festival in a long time and we wanted to try some of the food they have this time of year."

"How's your date been going?" Syndra asked, smiling in earnest, albeit sheepishly, trying to dispel the situation she was put in.

Lux and Ezreal beamed, "It's been great so far! We can't wait to see the fireworks later!" Lux said cheerily.

"You said you were going to go get some food, right? Mind if we tag along?" Ezreal asked them, brunching his eyebrows beneath his dirty mop of hair.

"I have no problems with it," Varus replied, together with a nod from Syndra.

"Okay, awesome! Every time I've been in Ionia, I wasn't able to make it for the Festival. What kind of food do you recommend?" Ezreal asked Syndra as they started to move together toward the vendors.

"Man, what took you so long to ask her out?" Lux teased from the front of the fourman group with Varus.

Varus sighed, "Your yukata really suits you," he started, changing the topic, "but the way you have it is how people back in Ionia would wear it to their funerals."

Looking completely aghast, mouth wide open, Lux screamed with enough intensity to scare some of the vendors, "NO! How do I fix it?" She looked down at her dress, examining it to make sure she didn't spill something or that her design didn't transform into skulls or something equally bad omened.

"Oh," Varus started, enjoying the turn of conversation, "nevermind, you are Demacian, so most people wouldn't notice anyway." He drew out his words to hold emphasis on her heritage and the word "most". He didn't want to talk about things that even he was unsure about.

* * *

><p>"Wow, this tastes amazing!" Lux said from her side of the bench-table they found unoccupied.<p>

"Then it's just like I remembered it," Varus responded, taking his first bite of the fried octopus. It was another testament to the power of the Institute that they were able to get such an exotic food from faraway to the inland without it spoiling; on top of having the vendors be able to make it to such a high-quality.

"I think this is called, tako-uh, tako…" Ezreal was cut off.

"Takoyaki," Syndra inserted, filling in the uncharacteristic void of knowledge that the young explorer usually had.

The four had a moment as silence as they all where chewing on their exotic seafood. The evening was in full bloom. Many lights were keeping the place lit like fireflies of different colors, with their abdomens always ablaze, as the sky turned from the blood-red sunset into a deep indigo that matched some of the colors of Varus' skin. The stalls were off a small distance, so people were easily able to recognize the four at their table, which was near enough to the lanterns to have some light. Varus' legs were covered in think wool pants and the darkness of the night sky made his arms appear to have oddly shaped gloves on, instead of the twisted abomination that they were.

A few passing champions easily identified the group, some of which, Varus noted, didn't deserve to partake in Ionian tradition. A sly smile from some of the Noxian champions grew Varus' ire, but the Demacian, unaligned, Zaunites and various other champions were just those of somewhat curious people wondering why the normally grumbling, cursed man was out with two bubbly blonde teenagers and a reserved, cold mage.

A few Ionians passed by, who gave Varus and the others huge looks of disgust. Varus grew anxious. Syndra was seen as a threat by most Ionians, so he hoped that they wouldn't associate Varus as one now. A few thoughts crossed Varus' mind. _Is Syndra really as horrible as they make her out to be?_ He realized that he never really put much weight into those type of thoughts before. _Maybe she really is dangerous—but why would she come with me to the festival?_ He decided to drop the train of thought before he made himself more confused.

The four eventually split off as Ezreal and Lux wanted to go check out a few of the other games, foods and events that the New Year's Festival offered. Varus and his rather reticent companion were left to themselves to explore the festival, which both admitted were pretty accurate to what the festival was like back in Ionia.

"Do you know where the fireworks are going to be?" Varus inquired to the Dark Sovereign.

Syndra nodded, speaking lightly, but enough for Varus to hear well enough, "I think I heard someone say that they were supposed to on the hill just outside the front gates, but I'm not really sure."

Varus and Syndra were sitting at a bench in the main courtyard, next to a huge fountain, having a sculpture of a man and a lion in battle with each other. The lion was winning, but the man seemed to not fear losing. "I guess that they will start pretty soon," Varus stated, looking at Syndra, who seemed to have gorged herself on every imaginable food from the vendors that was in her grasp, "but we can wait why your stomach settles." Varus laughed, in remembrance of one of his first crushes back when he was a kid that one time got sick after eating too much food at a festival and vomited on him.

Looking thankful and a bit annoyed that he was laughing at her, Syndra pouted and crossed her arms. As she opened her mouth to speak, an excited scream broke her off.

"VARUS!" The girlish scream at first had Syndra thinking Lux and Ezreal returned, but when a child-sized yordle came running in their direction with a small farie and two more yordles in tow, she discounted that. "You actually came! I'm so happy!" The childish yordle seemed to ignore her presence, totally focusing on the Arrow before her.

"Hi, Lulu," Varus started, "How's the festival?"

Syndra looked quizzically before realizing that this yordle was another champion of the league. Lulu's enormous hat and staff were not with her, so she didn't recognize her at first. Peering at the other two yordles, Syndra recognized the mummy Amumu and, surprisingly, Veigar.

"It's so cool! Look what I got!" Lulu pull out some exceedingly ordinary looking rocks from her pocket. Each one looked like either chips from the stone in the Institute or random rocks from just outside the huge compound.

"WOAH! Are they enchanted or something?" Varus asked, talking like a parent would to a young child that brought them a worm from the yard or, she mused, in this case, a rock from the river.

Syndra smirked and blinked; she didn't expect Varus to have such a friendly relationship with the Fae Sorceress.

"Lulu, come on! We need to go!" Veigar said with malignant intent. Syndra wondered why, or how Lulu and Veigar got along, but didn't voice her wonder.

"Okay!" Lulu said over her shoulder, "I gotta go now, bye Varus!" Lulu just then seemed to notice Syndra, "Oh, I didn't realize you brought your girlfriend too; bye Syndra!" Syndra seemed to have gotten quite well at hiding her blushing and nervousness tonight, if anything.

Varus nodded and waved at the trio as they made their way through the throngs of people in the crowd. "What kind of person pawns off rocks to children?" Varus sighed.

"If someone told me that the Arrow of Retribution was good with kids, I would've said that they were crazy," Syndra said, casually, trying to get a conversation going.

Varus smiled with his mouth, but his eyes were those of a man who found out his favorite dog passed away in the night. "She reminds me of my son," Varus began, "well, sort of… I like to think I taught my kid better than to buy rocks off of a stranger."

"Oh you have a family?" Syndra asked.

"Well, doesn't everyone?" Varus replied, a small amount of bite behind his words.

"Not necessarily," Syndra countered, with an equal amount of sting, thinking back to how she was taken from her home and given over to monastery under a man that she accidentally killed one day.

"Well, I had one," Varus stated. Varus used to often think of his wife and son, but as time went on, their faces he had branded on his mind seemed to weather away, blurring into something he still recognized, but couldn't completely remember. It didn't matter than their faces were wearing shrouds in his brain; he still thirsted for vengeance. "You ready to go to the fireworks?"

The Institute was large, but deceptively took up less space than one would imagine. It took the two, ten minutes to reach the front gates, from the middle courtyard. The iron portcullis was raised and more for show than for actual use. If someone was to attempt to attack the Institute, Varus had no doubt the magic of the summoners would decimate them before they could close in on the main entrance. The stone around the front was elaborately carved and accented with marble and granite.

Varus looked down at the floor and saw cracks that spread a few arm-lengths away from the major entry. The fissures spread far and wide, each little segment of stone, bisected by the valleys of gaps that were each the size of a fist. Each break in the ground was filled with gold, as if the builders decided to fill the breaches and crevices with molten, auric gilt. The effect appealed to Varus, he liked the stark comparison of the lustering grandeur in a case of something as plain and hard as stone, even if it seemed gaudy.

The entranceway was completely filled with people, some entering the Institute, but most leaving; likely to get ready to see the show that the champion, Ziggs was having or returning to their homes in the nearby villages. Inwardly cursing his ill-preparation and not arriving sooner to avoid the crowd, Varus stepped through the slow-moving crowd, with Syndra attempting to keep up.

The gilded masonry below their feet soon turned into gravel and bricks as they escaped the crowd that blocked the way.

"Syndra?" Varus called behind him, "Oh, there you are; thought I lost you."

"Almost did," Syndra replied, "I think they're gonna have it over there," pointing to the side of the hill that the Institute laid on. A group of people already occupied the area, sitting on blankets and laying down, looking at the stars; putting weight behind Syndra's guess as to where fireworks would happen.

"I think so too."

* * *

><p>Varus laid back into the hill, the grass was soft, where it touched his skin. Syndra resorted to carefully sitting a short distance away, attempting to avoid damaging the thin fabric of his leggings.<p>

"So, why have you decided to come to the Festival, anyway?" Syndra asked. Until now, their expenditure had been admittedly devoid of talking, not that she complained, because she didn't know what to talk about.

"I thought I told you, I wanted some of that fried octopus," Varus rambled softly, looking up to the stars to point out to himself the ones that were used for direction.

"I guess I should ask, why did you ask if I wanted to come and why have you been paying for what I've been getting?" Syndra asked, pulling out a few blades of grass at her side and sliding her fingers over them, feeling the imperfections on the rugged face of the plant.

_There's the fish_, Varus thought, finding a constellation that had the 3 southern stars. They said that Paimei's Fish was the fish that befriended an ancient witch who was deathly afraid of the ocean. The tradition states that the fish convinced her to get in the water one day, but she was swept out to sea before the fish could do anything to help her. The fish was said to have cried 3 tears, which went in the night sky to mark Paimei's grave. _It is a completely unbelievable tale_, Varus reasoned that Ionian tradition was, in itself, weird.

"I guess you could say I have a debt to you," Varus started, "You've done nothing but be kind to me while I've been here. I reasoned that I should at least be kind to you back." A small fire was lit a few spans away, likely a pilot for the flames that would set off the show. "I think that these past few months made me realize that not everyone deserves this anger I have."

"If it means anything to you, thank you for tonight," Syndra said, turning to make eye contact with the man on his back, with one arm behind his head. "It isn't every day that people treat me like an actual person." She paused, "O-oh, and if you ever need something, I'm usually home."

Varus held eye contact for a few seconds, drawing the slightest of smiles over his tired face. She didn't flinch or draw back; the look in the purple eyes across from him in the moonlight seemed to stir fires he long since forsook.

And that scared him.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>_ Alrighty, things've cleared up in my life so I'm off hiatus. Don't be expecting TOO much from me though. I have most of another chapter ready for after this one, so don't have TOO much fear either._

_Anywho, should I apologize for the longest chapter? D: this one is nearly twice as long as many of my last ones… _

_Also, is something wrong with the upload/copy paste in Doc Manager? This took me six tries to upload and I had to manually re-format... sorry in advance if places aren't italicized or I missed a line break..._

_And if you haven't… DO ME A FAVOR, please, pretty, pretty, please hit that review, favorite and follow, then review again!_

_(2-18-15)_

_~Bored out~_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Absolute Control**

* * *

><p>That's how it started. Varus didn't really know how, but the New Year's earned him a new drinking companion. It wasn't some immediate decision, but somehow, the two ended up spending maybe not every day, but a few select evenings from each week, with mutual drinking. Surprisingly, Syndra could hold down much more liquor than many women her size back in Ionia. But, that wasn't really much, considering that most women in Ionia were as in support of temperance as their men were generally drunk.<p>

After matches on occasion, Syndra and Varus walked back to their dormitories together. Neither were really the most talkative of champions, but that didn't mean that they didn't share a short word with each other every once in a while.

Through the walking and drinking, Syndra learned more and more about Varus. His village, his past friends, his job and his childhood were laid out in the matter of a few weeks. He never spoke about his family. Syndra assumed that it still pained him too much, after she learned of why he left the village, but she didn't know much more than what the rumors about what happened to his family. Some people around the Institute, around his time of joining said that he killed them, even.

The man noticeably, rarely talked of the invasion, even when the mage brought up the war as it effected herself. Varus was rather adamant on not describing his condition and whenever it was brought up, whether behind the cork and besotted or sober, he seemed to just reign in his conscious and quiet up.

She didn't notice at all, at first, but Syndra started to find changes. A nail here or a needle there, the mass that stuck to him like oozing venom spread with the grace of an ethwalist's technique. The ridge across his bicep seemed to duplicate and move upward, the tattoo of the Wise Owl, fade ever so slightly that Syndra wasn't even sure if it faded at all, the noticeable further distortion of his vocal cords… Each could condone in its old right, but Syndra didn't know what to make of it.

* * *

><p>"…Theshan would likely…" Varus said cheerily mid-sentence, before he realized his omission of thought. His impairment seemly weakening his resolve to secrecy and picking at a lock he placed on his soul.<p>

Syndra didn't understand what that meant and Varus didn't explain himself. She didn't push him to a corner about it and wasn't able to piece that the phrase he said was out of context and character until the following morning of aches.

Varus knew more and more about her too.

She, was a pristine example of a talkative drunk. When she was out of it, she seemed to only talk of nothing and everything on the flip of a copper piece. Syndra thought of herself and grew red in the cheeks, the color signifying the embarrassment she made of herself during some of those nights.

Varus learned of how she became a champion—sought through protection under the Institute from the hordes of Ionians that came to kill her. She admitted that she ended up killing many fierce warriors; _"But only in self-defense! I tried to warn them!"_ The memory echoing in Varus' mind. That never really helped her image to the people of Ionia, considering she had the power to, quite literally take the ground out from under armies, but it was necessary to survive. A knife held to your neck is just as dangerous as dehydration or starving.

Varus was unaffiliated with that branch of Ionian politics and army, but he knew of the stories about her; some parents would get their kids to behave by saying things like the Dark Sovereign took bad children at night. He brushed them off, knowing that it was likely that he's done much worse for the sake and well-being of his revenge. He recalled some of his more gruesome killings, shivering, but not regretting, _they asked for this_, he thought; drawing a mocking comfort in seeing his deal through.

Syndra spoke of her thoughts on the summoners, which, to both of their surprise, many agreements were reached. Felisia was hiding something behind her forced kindness, Marc was brutally honest and, well—an asshole, while various other summoners where either stupidly ignorant or held some sort of twisted mindset that had Varus, Syndra and any other champion as common pieces of a metaphorical, grand chessboard that they used to settle every worthless, and meaningful, dispute between both pretentious lords of huge estates and nations full of good people; even if those people were led by ill-moved efforts.

It wasn't to much of Syndra's surprise when Marc came by every few nights of drinking. His presence, for what it was part asshole, wasn't that of the pawn-holding child or the painted-glass box full of uneasiness that was Felisia. Marc was a lightweight. After the first evening of drinking, talking and eating, he seemed to figure out that the Arrow and the Sovereign were made of a thicker material. He made sure to put-off his drinking until they had a sizeable head start; often times, playing as a caretaker or mediator before he two was an singing, babbling, waist-high child, himself.

He didn't come every time that Varus and Syndra took part in drowning themselves with brew from as far away as Bilgewater, as near as Demacia and as high-quality of the Freljord or as cheap, diluted and artificially flavored as Piltover's make. Each time he did show up, which wasn't always announced, he seemed to come with his version of a smile and a bottle of Noxian Fire in one hand.

* * *

><p>His head was a cat's favorite tree to scratch, his stomach was a cocoon full of deadly snakes attempting to break free. He was hung over and he was glad. It was a sign, to Varus, that he was still human. Some might see his new-founded poisoning tactics more akin to a minor alcoholic, but Varus didn't drink to forget, he drank to remember.<p>

Each swig was a reminder to what his life was like before. His mind swam with thoughts of his wife staying up some nights to talk about nothing or the times he and the other guards who rotated the temple shift went out to the Inn, in town. Sure it was an escape, in some senses, but each morning, he awoke more assured of his purpose than the night before. He _remembered_ this. The Arrow was once again, not completely split through his existence. Varus mused over the fact that all it took was a night of heavy drinking to make him feel comfortable in a very suitable anger.

The mauve man lay on his back, not daring to open his eyes, afraid of the impending flash of light that would assault his consciousness should it break through his lids. After breathing in, deeply taking his breath to the furthest recesses of his lungs, he was startled. Where was he? This smell was familiar, what is this weight on his stomach? _Wait…_

Varus peeked under the veil that was his eye lashes, being greeted with a few loose strands of his hair and moonlight, something he didn't expect. The pale light coming through the three tall windows in the broad room held his attention focused on this presence, below his ribcage.

The gray-blue light that gave off a sheen on the bone-white hair made Varus hold his breath. The sudden realization of why he smelt an Ionian wildflower took him surprise and mild fear that he restrained to the back of his mind. A woman lay on her side, using him as a pillow to prop her head up. The blanket of hair parted midway down the face of the sorceress, revealing a young woman in a state of sleep akin to a hibernating bear or a lazy cat.

The bit of moonlight that reached her face moved across the bridge of her nose and check bones as Varus inhaled and exhaled. Varus closed his eyes and immediately reopened them. This wasn't a dream. Sighing, Varus pushed himself slowly out from under the weight and sat up against a nearby corner of a bed. The room seemed much colder now that the warmth that rested on his body left him.

Nearby, the aftermath of a night of drinking was standing behind on a table. Three bottles, each the size of Varus' bicep stood on the table, two looking half full and the third's glass was too dark to accurately judge the remaining liquor. A candle's wax left a pile on the inside of its dish, the wick burning to the base, before being met with nothing else to burn.

The archer racked his mind. _What happened?_ He desperately fought his memory, scratching the inside of his rattled mind with probing thoughts. _I got tired; I remember that_,_ but… my room isn't even two minutes away…_ _Why am I—why were we sleeping there?_ As much as he tried, he couldn't remember much of what happened, but judging by how both of them were still completely clothed, Varus could reasonably assume they didn't do anything they would regret later.

Varus took in another breath, letting it out slowly, standing up in the process. Syndra's forehead now lay properly planted into the stone floors as her pillow was taken from her, her hair spreading out behind her in long white petals. She seemed to have managed to remain asleep, even though her body was laying on her side instead of following her face's lead.

Varus looked out the window, judging the time to be only a few hours before sunrise. Making a mental plan, Varus crouched to put an arm under Syndra's torso while his other made way under her legs. He stood and lifted, taking Syndra with him. Turning around, he carefully placed her on top of her bed, surprising himself with how heavy of a sleeper she was. _She must've drunk much more than I thought_, he noted to himself.

She now laid on her back, her head propped on an actual pillow, the tendrils of her white hair pointed from a now, reddened patch of skin between both of her temples. Varus didn't think ahead, but improvised, not wanted to move the girl again and risk accidentally waking her, he just lifted the other side of the bed's sheets over her.

He turned around and made to stopper the bottles before quietly slipping through the heavy door that separated Syndra's room from their hallway. Letting out a small curse as he felt the door shut behind him, he explained to himself, _nothing happened, you would remember it if something did._

_._

_._

Something didn't feel right…

.

.

_Is the hallway filled with static?_ Varus couldn't honestly know. His aches and pains across his body were not enough to properly dull his senses. Something was definitely not right, even if it took a second to grasp why.

Taking a few steps, the archer soon caught on, but knew better than to let who or whatever was making this uncomfortable atmosphere know that he knew. If anyone was to ask him, Varus would likely just lie and say that he always had a knack at the sixth sense of knowing when someone or something was sneaking up on him. The past few weeks, the corruption seemed to grow more and more powerful. The truth was, is that Varus could sense the disturbance much like a hound could sniff a trail a few days old or a highly-trained musician could tell when a note was off-key. It was as if programmed to his very existence.

The intuitive powers that worked without thought that Varus gained were like another set of eyes. So much so, that the lilac-colored man could navigate the corridor in near complete darkness while feeling the walls and rafters above him as he moved. The minute sounds of near weightless travel didn't escape his ears from those cross-joints above him and their compression he felt of the wood told him of some hawk like presence overlooking what it fancied, its prey.

The taint was so linked to Varus' soul it felt like he was having a personal projected reality map the expanse in his mind around him as he slowly walked to his room. He felt—powerful. This energy that radiated out and back in, from and to his body, communicated its findings at locating the eagle above him.

Varus smirked a grin so wide, some would say that archer really did go insane and Pallas finally took over. _Nice try_, Varus thought to himself.

Keeping tabs on his would-be, ambushing assailant, Varus continued on, reaching his door. Each time the bird of prey hopped forward, Varus remapped his personal projection in his mind, preparing the inevitable encounter.

Twisting his key and pulling on the handle, Varus stepped into his room as the bird followed suit. _Remarkable how she does that_, Varus thought, laughing inwardly. Feeling the reality in his mind, the Arrow articulated his laughter, _I will start this,_ he thought.

There was no movement. She stayed put, clearly not expecting any sort of audible reaction from him, thinking that the mauve man was just laughing like a true maniac who lost his mind would for no reason.

"This time, we talk on my terms," Varus said flatly, being sure to use a voice of firmness he used to practice on his son when he acted disobedient.

A quickly subdued flash told Varus all he needed to know. The Institute did put restrictions on the power of the champions who lived there, much like a leach or collar, but not many champions grew at the rate Varus did over the short time he lived here. This increasing control of his corruption was something Varus expected, but the Institute didn't account for. With each bit of his body he lost, he gained some sort of power in return, almost as if Pallas was telling him, _"You only need a little more to complete our deal."_

His new strengths took a bit for him to understand, but the power that he could have with them, was astoundingly strong. When his enemy entered his dormitory, he went right to work. Using the darkness of night to his advantage. Varus sent out tendrils in the ground that gently tightened around the wannabe warrior, much like the first steps of control he utilized with the deal of his initial corruption. He then took liberty to distort the air around her body. _Interesting, how this worked_, he told himself, taking mere molecules of the pool graphed onto his body and spreading it into regular intervals and making them nearly immovable. The effect was like being sent into a jail of condensed syrup.

Varus was careful, making sure to lock up each and every possible movement she could make, save open her mouth to speak and blink her eyelids. It never hurt to be overly-concerned.

"Huh, I didn't really expect this," the Sinister blade replied, "especially after how I didn't harm you last time."

"Let's just say I like to take precautions," Varus replied squarely, walking up to the would-be predator turned prey.

Katarina tried once to shun-po away, but after seeing the effective snare and seemingly air-bending power make the quick leap impossible, she decided against trying twice. She had other ways of escaping, of course, but she'd rather not have to use them here.

Seeing the attempt, Varus tightened the grip on her legs to further influence her decision to stop trying to escape. Walking to his table and pulling out a chair to sit in while he talked, he asked in a deep, authoritative voice, "Why are you following me again?" He leaned forward, propping his arms onto his knees; making sure that the red head didn't leave his sight.

Katarina sighed, "You're really accommodating to someone bringing you good news," she teased in a voice as theatrical as her position allowed.

Varus had a few other ways of defending himself in the instance that she overpowered the prison he made, but he had a hard time feeling less than nervous at how calm she was in her situation.

"It's the best I can manage on short notice," Varus shrugged, taking note of a quick smile spread over her red lips in the dull moonlight through the window on the wall. "I could have probably been able to work up something a little more welcoming if I knew you were visiting, but seeing as how you are… -I think you would would've like it better this way."

"Captain LeGrand was killed in action in a border dispute and Leon Mercier died a few weeks back after succumbing to sickness," Katarina replied flatly, maintaining a smile and judging his reaction like her life depended on it.

_How does she know what my canon says?_ Varus wildly thought, breaking his focus and making the sludge that surrounded her lessen into water.

Katarina took her opportunity and appeared in the chair opposite of Varus from the table in less than an instant, but to his side. "There isn't many left, is there?" She asked, knowing the answer.

Varus scowled and adjusted his ears to her new location, the pulse of his energy locking down her position and each movement she made. "How do you know?" Varus demanded, unmoving.

Katarina laughed.

Varus grew irritated.

"How. Do. You. Know," Varus was nearly crying with frustration. How was he to get revenge when all of these people kept on dying without him being able to end them? Was the world so cruel as to never give him closure? To steal his body without finishing the deal that he made with it? How. Did. She. Know?! Will she rob him of his satisfaction? How did she know who was responsible?

Her continued laughter drew no visible response from Varus. The pulsating of his seemingly extorted body writhed in anger. Varus forgot his headache, his stomach, his very name in place of this frustration. He shall not be taken advantage of, like this, without fighting back.

Anticipating as many movements that Katarina could take in a moment of noticing what he was about to do, Varus programmed as many paths into his maleficent, extended body. He only needed one grip on her to keep her in place.

In the spam of time that it would take for a raindrop to fall one hand-span Varus had his prey caught like, well, a hunter would a deer, precisely on target. Katarina's laughter stopped when she was caught mid stride, jerking back from the wire that would not give, on her wrist. She pulled a knife to try and cut the string of darkness that was attached to her, but another coil clasped around her other hand and held it in place.

The Noxian panicked, flicking her wrist, she threw the wicked blade at the gray-eyed man. Varus didn't bother trying to catch it, letting his bounce off his chest, much like a wall would to a pebble, the metal seeming to react to his skin as if it made contact with a steal beam. Varus leaned down to the now-ringing blade on the ground, picking it up. He examined its make. The steel showed a few scratches and notches from past fights, each adding depth and story to it, but the initial construction was of pristine quality.

He stood and slowly walked over to the assassin, each scale of his skin transforming into a chain that launched to her form, immobilizing her completely. Using the coils he already had on her, Varus pushed her back into the wall, putting her arms being her back and her feet a shoulder width apart.

They both stood at similar heights. She may have been a few fingers shorter, but Varus didn't lean down to get to her level when he raised his free hand and lifted her by the neck to his. With the hand holding the small blade, he placed the edge to her check. "Would be a shame if you ended up having a matching scar on your face, at your funeral, wouldn't it?"

"I—w-wonder if this…would be enough… for—the Exile?" Katarina asked, rasping for breaths, but keeping her composure.

Relaxing his grip slightly enough to better allow her to scream, Varus slowly pressed the edge of the woman's knife into her own check, drawing blood onto the blade that pooled in the dints and imperfections of the worn metal.

"Ok, ok," Katarina lamented with a pinch of_—excitement?—_behind her voice. "High Command always holds copies of troop movements and orders. When you were joining the League, I heard about your reputation; so I looked into the execution squads around your region."

With some noticeable difficulty, Varus removed her blade from his improvised sheath. Moving his hand from her throat to cover her mouth and replacing the edge of the blade against her throat, he continued, "If you do anything to interfere with me, consider your own name to be on that list."

Noticing a lack of a reaction, Varus understandably, slowly lifted the edge from her neck and lowered her to her feet; making sure her mouth remained covered. "Do you understand?" he asked, allowing her head the movement to nod.

Katarina instead held eye contact and parted her lips under his fingers, the smooth skin bushing the rough, callous-like manifestation of his being, like a pair of warm feathers. Much to his surprise, the red head licked at her blood that was flowing over them.

With Varus sufficiently startled, she nodded and spoke up, muffled from under his hand, "Not bad, Archer," she made sure to draw out the last word, almost making it as much of an insult as she could.

Varus mused how it made sense for the assassin to try and gain some sort of firm footing in any position. _This woman is really messed up_, he noted to himself.

Removing his hand, he observed the smeared blood on her mouth that blended so well with her lips. The more he looked at them, the more they seemed to be one in the same, like some sort of demon that survived off blood. _In some ways, I imagine that is far too accurate, _he reasoned.

"Next time, be sure to not come over unannounced," Varus ended their short engagement, being sure to leave the impression of well-founded threat.

"Oh, you're still lonely after staying over at Syndra's?" Katarina replied quickly as the ropes untangled themselves from her body. "And I was just thinking how lucky she is to have you over," Katarina didn't bother wiping the blood from her face as some ran from her chin to the crevice of her neck meeting her chest, finally resting snuggly between her breasts.

"I'm going to bed," Varus sighed, not really allowing her words to register, less she receive any sort of reaction that she was after.

Katarina pouted, clearly displaying her body in the moonlight, forcibly drawing attention to her blooded chest. "Do you want some company?" She asked in a way both mockingly and flirtingly.

Varus turned his head back around and stared into her eyes, drawing a deep, full throated laugh.

"Are you sure?" The red head replied, biting her lip and shifting her weight onto her other foot.

Eliciting no response, she dropped her act, "I guess you wouldn't be able to, anyway." Katarina's eyes drawing themselves to below where the half-man's navel once was.

"It's just that I'm not into blood—or you, rather," Varus said in stride to his bed, taking off his pauldron and half-shirt.

He froze with the material of his shirt over his eyes as a hand lightly drifted across his back, feeling the curves of the packed-on muscles of his remaining un-damaged skin. _How did she move that fast?_ As soon as the sensation was there, it left, leaving him shivering in a way he felt ashamed of.

"You're a bad liar," the Noxian replied smugly, just before the sound of his door opened and closed, followed by the muffled sounds of footsteps that evaporated into the dead silence of night.

The sun wasn't far off from rising when he greeted sleep that night.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note<em>_: Hey guys! Thanks a ton for the reviews, follows and favorites you gave me! 3_

_Honestly, I'm surprised I've gotten so many positive reviews thus far. This is my first fan-fic, so I am fairly nervous on how my work will be taken. I aim to finish the story eventually, but there is still a few more things I need to cover before I reach a suitable ending for the tale. I trust you guys will understand, but I can't promise a chapter every other week, although I will try to aim for that. _

_School sucks… just got rocked by a physics test D:_

_I studied so hard! Also, my part-time job taught me how to do busy work today when I had nothing to do… Yay…_

_Uh, what else can I say? Thanks Riot for giving my bae (no homo), Varus some kick-ass skins! Now, if only they will give him a meaningful buff, so every champion won't shit on him or he can actually do something with a lead instead of die whenever he doesn't have ult up (which is still easy to miss, fyi!)._

_~Bored out~_


	13. Chapter 13

_Experimenting with a new line break. Old one wouldn't really play nicely with the website. Hopefully this new one saves me time; which in turn, results in more productive work! :^)_

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

**Chapter 13: Forsaken**

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

_**Finally awake.**_ A voice rang in Varus' head as the sun hit his eyes. _What?_ Varus thought, "Who's here?" He spoke out loud, to no response. The silence drew on uncomfortably, the only sound, the squeak of the filmy mattress under Varus squealing under him as he sat up. Varus tried to remember where he heard the sound, but continued drawing false positives. There was no one behind him, no one by the window, no one sat at the table, Varus even checked and under the bed, but there was no one.

_**Did you check the closet?**_ The strangely familiar voice said in a way that made it seem like he was all around Varus. After some hesitation and him checking the closet and confirming that he was indeed alone, the archer just assumed that he was hearing things. When the ominous voice didn't speak up again, Varus took it as a confirmation. It was likely just a side effect, Varus reasoned, even if it was exceedingly worrying.

Stretching, Varus steeled himself, he may not have gotten as much sleep as he would've liked after that talk with Katarina a two nights ago, but it wasn't unmanageable to his years of experience on sentinel duty during his teenage and young-adult years.

What he found helped was, surprisingly, very Ionian. It wasn't often that Varus took part in Ionian tradition before he turned; but even now, after his transformation, the guard found it hard to turn down tea.

He got dressed. Even if he liked the mental stability and focus tea brought him, he didn't like to waste all of the time to make it himself. Varus had a match, soon enough, that he decided it would be just fine to go and get some of the brew from vendor around the main courtyard.

His biggest decision to make in the meantime was to what kind of leaf he wanted. _A spiced black? Perhaps a youthful leaf or fermented tea. _His thoughts enjoyed the little escape. _It doesn't matter at all,_ Varus thought, killing his mood for anything to drink or eat.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

He sat on a bench waiting. His match was not too far off, the multiple time keeping devices at the Institute along with all of the summoners almost made it impossible to be late and many of the champion's allowances, utilities and living arrangements depended on their obedience. That being said, Varus didn't really care for most of it. Whatever got him closer to his target and whatever kept his sickness held back, was all he wanted in the Institute.

Today he was to be playing against a champion that people liked to place him against. Draven, a Noxian who bounced his heavy blades that he threw off of his targets was a gruesome opponent, but his patterns of attack and moving were something easily noted and for Varus, easily exploitable. His support wasn't something unmanageable either. Soraka could be annoying, because she offered so much sustain, but Varus could set up traps with his corruption and lessen her healing by desecrating the field with his essence.

His position on the bench was near an end of it. His partner today decided to wait with him. While he leaned into the back of the seat with both of his arms resting on the back of the wood, spreading in either direction, she sat slightly hunched over with her hands in her lap on his side of the bench. Why she decided to sit so closely to him, Varus hadn't the slightest idea. The middle of her back was only a few inches away from Varus' left fingers.

Their silence made Varus feel uncomfortable; not that he expected much noise from Sona, of course. He felt determined to not let the feeling of awkwardness get to him, refusing to speak first. As driven as he was to stupor in a bad mood, the musician seemed to only want to increase his discomfort; misinterpreting the atmosphere of that akin to a healthy tension between members of different sex.

Sona scooted herself much closer to Varus, her dress' open back exposed the area between her shoulder blades and pressed against the mangled arm of Varus while their legs touched. The man thought she smelt nice, like a breeze passing though autumn trees. The archer's surprise was matched by his sated curiosity, _her skin is really soft and—_his thought was interrupted. _**I will make her mine**_, a bellowing voice called and echoed around him.

A sudden realization overcame the young man, _This… this is Pallas_… He widened his eyes as his accusation was met with internal laughter that reverberated around him. He didn't understand how he didn't piece it together earlier. It felt so obvious.

Varus jerked his hand out from under Sona's back, in the process, catching his thumb around the strap of the Maven's loosely held-up dress, exposing much more of Sona's skin than what she would ever really be comfortable with. Anyone in the vicinity that found it odd or normal for the ethwalist to sit next to the broken man suddenly whipped their heads to their direction as Sona's mental scream of horror and embarrassment exploded from her consciousness.

Initially taken aback in some sort of guilty satisfaction, admiration and fulfillment of his curiosity, Varus mental state immediately back pedaled into a strong embarrassment. "I-I didn't mean t—" Varus blurted out with as much concern he could pool into his face on short notice, before his mind was swept over with angry and embarrassed thoughts from the blue-haired Ionian beauty before him, which was complimented physically with an open palmed slap to his face that might have given a normally-colored man a purple bruise.

Returning herself to decency and composure, Sona stood up from the bench, sent a quick, _You're disgusting_, and walked away.

"I-I…" Varus couldn't bring himself to say anymore and complete his sentence, instead covering his face with the guilty hand that exposed the youthful girl to the rest of the Institute. He closed his eyes and started to breathe a deep breath when he remembered what it was that startled him so; a moment prior.

As if to confirm his worries, the voice spoke up_, __**Oh, good. I like it better when they are bashful**_**.**

Varus decided he was best off not finding the blue-haired woman, in order to give her time to cooldown and for him to collect his thoughts on his current situation with the deep _wrongness_ within him. _Why are you screaming, Pallas,_ Varus' carefully articulated thought and attempt to project it to his body was met with silence. The evil in him only smiled.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

The sounds of their footsteps echoed across the corridor to Varus' ears; making the two sets of feet sound like twenty. The archer was tired. The Fields of Justice might have dulled your senses, but it didn't do much for the aftereffects.

"Huh, I don't think it's a smart idea to drink alone with a man who just sexually assaulted a mute girl today, but what are you doing tonight?" Syndra asked. She had heard the rumors, which were quite polarizing. Most liked to paint the scenario as Varus purposely groping the innocent, pure musician; but Syndra thought it was likely different.

It wasn't that she doubted that Sona's top fell off her shoulder, _it is always on the verge of falling, normally_, she reasoned, but the mage knew how the buxom woman acted around all of the men that shared her lane. It helped prove her guess of what happened by how Varus seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be a man, as much as it disappointed the young girl, sometimes.

Varus' visage mimicked that of a child caught stealing from his sibling. Likely some of the most expressive moments to have formed across his face since he turned to the pit. "It wasn't like that—I didn't!... I-I mean…" He ended in silence as Syndra's laughing made him realize that she was just teasing him.

"I didn't know you were even into women!" Syndra chuckled, her mid-ranged voice bouncing around the halls to compliment the clacks of their footsteps. "I would've sworn that you were about to invite Taric or Ezreal over, some night."

Varus decided that he wouldn't bring up how Sona approached him after his second game. _"If you really wanted me that badly, you should've asked_," Varus cringed inwardly, as much as Sona misinterpreted him, he was certain that she would probably tell all of the other women of bot lane how he turned down a beautiful, young girl that was quite physically throwing herself on him. As much as a part of him enjoyed that memory, he hadn't a clue how some of the supportive and high damage dealing champions would react to that information.

The archer decided his counter wouldn't bring up how he woke with the Sovereign on his chest one night, as much as it would stroke his ego. "You can stop pretending not to be jealous," was what he decided to parry with, regaining his composure.

Much to his surprise, Syndra looked startled. "Ah-h…" her voice died off, awkwardly. After a short moment, she decided the best way to correct her embarrassment would be to ignore it. "I just got some of Gragas' mead, too. This stuff was pretty good last time we had it," she said, seeing a widening of Varus' eyes to her initial reaction, she added on in the time it took her foot to strike the ground from full stride, "So when do you wanna come over?"

Varus argued with himself, silently, in the span of a few seconds. But he was only drawing blanks. "Actually, I have things I need to do tonight…"

"If you're afraid that when you are drunk and you won't be able to restrain yourself, I'm pretty sure I can hold you off; unlike a certain nymphomaniac of a blue-haired girl I know," Syndra stated, hoping to convince him to change his mind. As much as she wanted to have him come over to be in company, she wasn't going to beg or bargain with him over it.

As questioning as he was of her claim to be able to hold back his curse, Varus knew that the reason he didn't want to come over was more in line to how he was deathly afraid to lose his purpose with the curse bearing down so heavily on him. He drew his brows together, "Sorry," was what he stated with conviction, leaving no room for compromise.

"What is it that you're doing, tonight than?" Syndra asked, coming to a halt with Varus.

"Coming through on my end of a deal," Varus replied, reaching for the handle to his door.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

_**Finally**_, Pallas spoke to Varus. _Finally,_ Varus agreed. The archer has heard Pallas speak to him before in his thoughts, but for some reason, today's forceful and loud relays were new to him. Who spurred his internal companion to speak was at the other end of the hallway.

Her white hair and pretty face nuanced the evil that Varus knew she had done in years prior. All things considered, Varus knew he should be nervous, but an excitement grew in him.

The lack of honor and humanity Riven displayed to his village, killing his friends, unarmed townsfolk, children, his family… He will right this specific blight of the human race and time. The Noxian executioners may have ambushed his life—his happiness—but he could always take solace, letting his targets know who it was that hunted them.

Time was of the essence and the other champion seemed to subconsciously agree as she got straight to business after approaching the Ionian.

"Excuse me?" The Exile asked, knowing that Varus had some bad blood with her, but not necessarily the reason behind it. She was careful to not let the tall, purple man out of her sights. She had no reason to start a fight, but apparently, he did. In Noxus, it didn't matter if you were ready or not; ill preparation led to your death.

Varus remained silent. The Arrow of Retribution usually liked to make more of a show of what his name signified, but as Riven was near the last and likely the strongest on his list, he decided that using formalities and speaking in false bravado would not only be pointless but stupid.

Riven sighed, _oh boy_, she thought. She was no stranger to a duel or an assassin, but that didn't mean that she actively sought them. "Only the strong survive" was a fitting model and Riven lived by that. This would just be a stepping stone to test her strength.

"You are guilty," Varus said nonchalantly.

"Are we going to have a problem?" Riven said in a tone implying that she felt like she didn't have the time to deal with whatever theatrical display the Ionian was trying to perform.

"All Noxians are guilty of genocide, but you," Varus continued, "You are something worse to me. You were the commander of a contingent of soldiers who came to my village, killed everyone, razed everything, murdered my boy and raped my wife as she bled out. I will kill you."

Riven narrowed her eyes. This was probably true. Senseless killing was something she herself had forsaken, when the Zuanite technology showed how to kill friendly and foe without them being able to fight back. That being said, she had a conflicting dhrama. Only the strong will survive. If what happened to Varus' village was true, they were weak and unable to defend themselves from the senseless slaughter.

"Why are you telling me this, now?" the Exile asked, positioning herself so that she could defend herself more easily; crouching slightly and taking a half step back. She knew not to underestimate anyone who she encountered, especially someone recognized by the Summoners as a Champion of the League.

Varus crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, slightly. "It's a shame you show no regret…—or maybe I should thank you," Varus started, "you'll be one less person on my conscious after you're dead."

Riven didn't think she would lose to the archer. She has seen what he was capable of on the field and understood that as soon as she could close the distance, Varus wouldn't be a threat at all. The white-haired woman decided not to speak, though. It would be wise to catch him unaware and attack in full as Varus wasn't positioned to counter her. But, it would be even smarter to attempt to have as many witnesses around to see this happen, so when the Noxian killed the corrupted Ionian, there would be plenty of people claiming she was acting in self-defense.

Suddenly, Varus cried out in pain. _What?_ was all that Riven could think as he fell to the floor, clutching his abdomen and making guttural noises that sounded like someone both spitting and coughing up blood. The Noxian was caught off-guard and staggered herself further backward, making sure this wasn't just a feint.

The deep monstrosity that glimmered like a black-purple oil on the Arrow's legs spread quickly upward on his being, appearing like a wolf or bear's tongue, lapping up the un-destructed skin on his chest and back like it was water from a creek. Its unbridled assault on the Ionian's body didn't stop from his torso; the veiny, blue, mauve strands on his arms over took his arms and shoulders at irregular intervals.

Riven grew worried. _Was this a trick? Was he about to attack? What happened to him?_ Her worried thoughts were replaced in fear as Varus gathered himself to his knees and rose his head from the ground. The corruption seemed to have spread incompletely, looking like a web across the skin with tendrils crossing themselves over his chest. His face was no exception as the stringy substance seemed to liter his visage to look like a grizzled veteran's scars from campaigns long-ago fought.

He started laughing as he rose to his feet. It wasn't his voice, though. The distortion was lost and instead of what seemed like two or more people talking at once over each other, it was just one voice that radiated out. Riven tensed the muscles in her calves and thighs, preparing to run in any direction, should something come her way.

Her concern was well vested as what seemed like snakes made their way toward her. She jumped to the side and forward, like a darting sparrow escaping a hawk's talons. As quickly as the white haired woman could she channeled her ki to summon her full sword. The loud gust of wind that accompanied it as the pieces gathered and arranged themselves was deafening. As soon as she had a good grip on the handle, she twisted to avoid an icicle of sludge that shot in her direction and swept her blade up to cut the unknown material.

The rod of slime didn't break in two like she expected, but flung away from the ki-blade like smoke would after being blown at. Riven noted it, and continued her way quickly forward. She only stood less than a dozen spans from Varus when he fell to the floor and now she was maybe two strides away from being able to land a solid strike on the vengeful monster in front of her.

Time seemed to slow down as her next foot struck the floor. Her sword was at her side, as Riven wound up an under hand piercing motion. Her second step brushed aside the mist at her feet as if her ki itself was pressing against the smoke. Her third step brought her arm forward with her sword, having her other hand join its sister on the back of the handle, pushing the pommel forward into the direction of Varus.

The huge sword, nearly a shoulder wide, sped toward Varus. It was an arm length away, the ki glowing like a torch in the dense shadows that Varus' being created. It was only a few hand spans away, the ki still glowing, but the motion slowing as it passed its half extension. The shadows around the blade and Riven seemed to fight against her spirit, suffocating her essence, darkening her existence. The Exile desperately pushed her body weight forward against the staggering sand-like atmosphere around the now cobwebbed man.

Less than a nail away from his chest, the broadsword stopped in its tracks. The darkness of Varus' being sweeping its way into and around her arms, legs and joints, halting her movement entirely. Her ki was unable to fight it off, as if shoved into her body, successfully.

Riven was close enough to get a closer look at Varus. His skin showed through, past the interlocking lattices on the surface that beat like an artery. His eyes were without an iris or pupil, each, she sensed, locked onto her eyes. His white hair fell forward onto his gaunt cheeks and his brow was uniformly brought together with a look of anger she rarely ever saw.

Then, her blade's fragments fell to the ground. Riven was rarely afraid, the emotion seemed overbearing to her. The jagged edge or her broken sword, paralyzed, the growth on the archer ripped itself from his skin, like flower's petals during bloom. Each frond revealing what was a man underneath as they wrapped themselves over her being.

Everything stopped. There was no movement. Varus' eyes closed, his smile evaporated with the dark, shadowy mist around him. The creature that stood before Riven went limp and collapsed, releasing his hold on Riven. The leaves of Varus' corruption died around her, creating a husked shell on the ground. The woman could move again and her first move was to follow through her blade and pierce the abomination that now laid on the stone floors, unconscious.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

_Author's Note: _

_HAHAHA! SEE HOW I DIDN'T TAKE 3 MONTHS TO DELIVER?!_

_By the way, I totally failed that test D:_

_Tell me I'm bad at pacing and conversations please; this whole chapter was difficult. I wanted to slow it down, but at the same time, I want to reach the end. Is this length of chapter better than before? (3-4k from 1-2k words per chapter)_

_Jesus, I suck at math. But anyway; thank you guys for the kind words and reviews! I hope you guys won't quit on me now! I feel like I should mention that I'm going to finally look for a beta reader. I think I realized, finally, that I'm not the best writer that ever lived. So, if you want to "audition" send me a PM talking about how great you are! I'm mainly looking for a proof reader and/or someone who can tell me what I just wrote is shit/what I just wrote was cash and what I can do to improve._

_Also, hype! Varus buffs incoming! We complained enough! :^)_

_~Bored_


	14. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14: Fate**

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

There was a darkness holding his eyes hostage. It was not a shade of coal that blanketed his vision but something much more diverse. His mind was clouded in erroneous resolve, his will held by his lack of respite and self-inflicted path of pursuit.

His decree on his quarry was the same he was given. There wasn't rescue that didn't involve some sort of self-destruction. "_NO! Please! Don-,"_ a voice echoed in the shadows.

"_Goodbye,"_ another voice mimiced.

"_I have a wife! Please, don't do this!"_

"_What do you want? I can get you anything! How about money?! Or gir-"_

"_I don't want to die…" _The voices trailed on in the background. Each one unique in tone but identical in intent. The words became a hammering repetition that called for some sort of absolution of their actions.

The scene was every color before him. Each hue was in attendance. When he didn't focus on one section, it almost appeared like some sort of twisted, bubbling rainbow. When he focused his gaze, the singular color in his pupils was as detailed as the icy blue of a frozen lake in winter to the yellow on the back of a butterfly.

His other senses were not registering to him. He had no body here, just his consciousness. In a short matter of time, the voices died out around him. Each one taking a shade of the spectrum with it. Soon, he stood in the absence of any color but purple, blue and white.

An eerie feeling overcame his celestial body, like he was being observed under a microscope. Suddenly, it stopped and the colors disappeared to be replaced by a scene that he was familiar with.

Varus looked down and saw himself as a brown lock fell before of his gaze. There was no taint here, just the memory of what he once was. A small joy was raised in him, but it raised his curiosity. _I must be dreaming_, he thought to himself. He examined his legs, and saw no corruption, each tendon his own; free of disfigurement. The muscles in his arm were unhampered and after twisting his shoulder in front of him, he observed his tattoo. Each line was dark and bold, as if it was finished only an hour ago. The prickling recollection of the tattooist's hand was fresh on his thoughts.

The ground was gravel, with grass reaching in between the rocks, struggling to get to the sun; the texture wasn't registering underneath his feet. Off in the distance, Varus could see the mountains, each white cap reaching up into a cloudless, sunless sky. _What? It's still bright out…_, he thought to himself.

The structure before him made him grit his teeth and swallow. His old home that he hadn't been to in years was in pristine condition, much different than what he remembered seeing it when he found his son and wife dead inside.

There was no wind, no taste to the air. The place seemed constructed in some sort of fantasy-world. Each breath he drew seemed false and each step he took, made no sound. The motionless environment complimented the sunless sky in its unnerving intent.

The silent footsteps he made toward his own door made him anxious as if when he would open the door to his home, the sound in this bubble would immediately reactivate and deafen him in a nightmare.

His door's hinges retained the silence and the inside was barren with off-white walls, ceilings and floors, except for a simple, wooden table that he had memories of eating at with his family, long ago, and two, matching chairs that were both as empty as the rest of the home.

A being was materializing into one of the chairs much like the reverse of a candle being extinguished. As the smoke fell from the ceiling, the whole world dematerialized, systematically. First the immediate surroundings turned to darkness, then the surroundings got swallowed in the wave that was non-existence.

Varus blinked once, his eyes in were covered in complete shade. He opened them again into a completely lit room with bleached stone walls. The overbearing light made him squint and the cold floor underneath him had an auditory reaction from the scrapping motions his disfigured limbs and cross-hatched chest made to get into a standing position.

Surveying his surroundings, he made note of how one wall was barred off and there were no amenities. _I'm being held here_, he thought to himself. Walking a step forward, closer to the bars, he looked out to an empty corridor save one overly-happy-looking summoner leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway.

"What happened?" Varus asked his overbearing warden, his voice traveling the distance to woman in purple. Her smile was as incredulously disfigured as ever; it made the less-than-half-man wonder if she ever got sore cheeks.

"Well, it looked like you learned a spell or two before we stopped Riven from taking your heart out- she's actually in the Institute's hospital right now. Something… weird happened with her ki," Felisia responded, as polite as ever.

"Why am I being held, here, than?" Varus asked, trying to figure out a way to worm himself out of his current, cold, bare, concrete box.

"Looks as if your time as a normal, sane champion is nearing its end," the summoner replied, retaining her robotic smile as she knit her brows. "You shouldn't worry, though, you'll still be fed, safe from other champions and will get to see sunlight when someone summons you," she continued.

Varus sighed, _she forgot to mention that it was an artificial sunlight, _he thought. "Can I make a request, in the meantime?" The archer asked.

"I'll hear you out, but I won't make any promises on fulfilling them," Felisia said, narrowing her dark brown eyes and crossing her arms over the small absence of flesh between her breasts and chubby stomach.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

The Sinister Blade was more than a little nervous to visit Varus. Namely, they weren't exactly on the best terms and secondly, he wasn't the type to use a summoner to request an audience.

The noble red-head also questioned why the Ionian would ever want to meet in the Institute's dungeons. _To have witnesses? Maybe he's requested to be protected from me,_ she sniffled and subdued a laugh.

The dungeons held very dangerous champions that absolutely could not be given the freedoms to do as they would wish. A lot of voidspawn lived here side by side with the demons of the Shadow Isles.

Some cells were bigger than others and had exquisite to non-existent comforts. After passing through two security checks, one to lessen her physical prowess, another to dampen her magical techniques further than what was standard for the Institute.

Katarina figured she would probably only be able to take down a summoner or two, if she really tried, before she was stopped. It unnerved her, feeling so weak, here, but every champion around the extremely bright, bleached walls would be this diluted or further; so the Noxian doubted she was in too much danger, especially considering the inherent danger of residing in the Noxian quarters, themselves.

Being led by a boy in a summoner's clothes, whose name she already forgot, they twisted around the extremely brightly-lit corridors of the prison to stop in front of a very small, barred-off room.

Katarina figured that the cell was temporary, judging by its size and lack of accommodations. The man who sat against the back wall of the closet was a mystery at first- his body completely completely covered in an oily, purple residue.

The criss-crossing, protruding veins of black and blue gripping the man's chest and identifiable face startled the assassin momentarily. "You look like shit," she said out loud, leaving her thoughts unfiltered as the boy in robes two sizes too big, who acted as the archer's messenger, made his leave.

Varus smirked, but quickly dropped his emotion and walked over to the bars of the cell. "Has news reached your army about Marie-Jakque Lefévre?" The cursed man asked in a voice that wasn't his.

"You are the Arrow of Retribution, right?" the bewildered woman asked, unsure of what to make of the situation he was in. His face was the same, but his body and voice were different enough to warrant some concern. _He's probably going to die, isn't he?_

Varus leveled his gaze to show some frustration.

"I've kept tabs on her. Last thing High Command heard was that she was assigned to an outpost on the border with Demacia," the redhead continued in an apprehensive tone, "it isn't unheard of to have an outpost completely wiped out, though."

"...makes sense then," Katarina heard the veiny man mumble quietly. She peered into at him like he was telling a secret she wasn't privy to. "It's nothing," Varus confirmed, reactively, to Katarina's questioning look.

The Sinister Blade crossed her arms and put her weight onto one foot to rely her annoyance at his choice of words. "Why are you in the dungeons, Varus? Afraid to come to the Noxian quarters?" she asked in an exasperated tone.

"No," Varus lied, "All I will say, is that Lefévre's death came at the worst possible time." He shifted to inspect his cell in a nonchalant way, that if Katarina had not been in his position before, she doubted that she would have caught his eyes scoping cracks, ledges, defects or anything out of the ordinary in his quarters.

_So he was taken here?_ she connected the hints. After mentally agreeing that she would never want to trade places with him, the redhead took a step back to the hallway she came from and called from across the hall, "I wasn't lying; you really do look like shit." It seemed like a waste of time, coming to the dungeons.

The Noxian wouldn't consider it worth her time to come, but it wasn't a complete waste. He at least saved her the trouble of goading him if news of Lefévre's death reached High Command and she got to see how a demon's deal made work on someone's body. She didn't think it would ever be worth using those types of means to get a goal.

The cost is apparent before the deal is even finished.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

The day dragged on and nothing of note happened. He was given food at… he didn't know what time it was, so he thought of it as breakfast. His "breakfast" wasn't necessarily inedible, but each fork full of food that entered his body was rejected nearly immediately. As the partially chewed food made its way to the ground, Varus decided against struggling to try to keep it in his stomach.

Felesia didn't clean up his mess when she retrieved the bowl and utensils, but it didn't matter to Varus, because, luckily, the gastric-juices were segregated to a corner of his cell and his sense of smell was obliterated to a point at which he might as well be sitting in sewers.

Going over the walls once more, Varus once again confirmed that there was no exploitable crack, protrusion or irregularity. The cursed man sat down in a corner opposite his retch and took a deep breath, biding his situation and condition.

As if on command, _**You give up, yet?**_ Pallus asked from within. _I think I have to, the magic I use is nullified here, too_, Varus replied, calmly. At least the tales of Varus won't be about some guy who gave up on revenge, but succubed before he was able to enact it.

_**Maybe with the way you use it, you can't,**_ Pallas urged him on. _What do you mean, _Varus asked, shooting his eyes open and flexing his muscles, as if to awaken the newly strewn veins that stretched over them. _**I'll tell you later, **_Pallas replied with a internal smirk. _Why not now?_ Varus asked, frustrated at the being that conflicted with his innate self. His co-inhibitor didn't rejoin the conversation, deciding to let the archer fester.

The rest of his "day" passed in silence. The light never dimmed, but the archer caught sleep in time.

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**

_Author's note: alright, just stopping in to say sorry for not updating on schedule... ON THE BRIGHTSIDE I got a 98% on my last calc test, which is nice, so I'll take it._

_anywho, hopefully, I can finish out this story in the next few chapters without it turning into too much of a shitfest. I'll be busy working my 20 hour weeks and school now, see ya next time, pals._

_-Bored_

_Thanks for all of the reviews/favorites/follows, 3 you all. ALMOST forgot to shout out skiJ for the beta!_


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